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http://www.archive.org/details/etchingsinverseOOthomrich 


ETCHINGS    IN    VERSE 


Etchings  in  Verse 


BY 


CHARLES  LEMUEL  THOMPSON 


f 


NEW   YORK 

ANSON   D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  CO. 

1890 


*      .',-»■)« 


Copyright,  1890, 
By  Anson  D.  F.  Randolph  &  Co. 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


>t 


TO 

WILLIAM    C.    GRAY 

Face  to  face  within  the  glow 

Of  life's  forge-fires^ 
And  in  the  ca?np-fiames^  overflow 

Among  the  pine-tree  spires ; 
Face  to  face  till  toil  and  rest 

By  years  are  rounded^  so 
That  friendship  has  its  last  and  best 

In  our  life'^s  afterglow. 


ivil91^8 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 


Songs  of  Jaitjj^ 

Crypt  and  Cathedral 13 

Sibyl  and  Saint 15 

The  Raven  and  the  Dove 16 

Guidance 20 

A  Laurel  Spray 22 

Wherefore? 23 

A  Summer  Revery 25 

My  Robin 27 

Veiled 28 

After  the  Rain 30 

An  Autumn  Day 31 

The  Temple  by  the  Sea 33 

Sunrise  on  the  Bay 37 

Reminiscence 39 

A  Dream  of  the  Christ 41 


8  CONTENTS. 

Sonflg  of  Sentiment. 

PAGE 

My  Centripetal 61 

The  House-Top  Walk 64 

Paganini 66 

The  Cantatrice 68 

Love 69 

Adrift 71 

Aspiration 72 

Immortality 74 

Half  Way  On 76 

Presentiment 78 

Unspoken 80 

Blending  Chords 82 

A  Dream ...  84 

Nearing  Home 85 

At  Last 87 

Onono-Komatch 89 

Ship  Ahoy  I 92 

Songs  of  2ErafaeI. 

Mont  Blanc 97 

The  Jungfrau 99 

The  Staubbach  Fall loi 

Paulus  Contra  Mundum 103 


CONTENTS.  g 

PAGE 

The  Silent  House io6 

"The  Sea  IS  His" io8 

Lying  at  the  Bar 109 

Songs  of  Camp. 

A  Camp  Revery 113 

Into  the  Forest 118 

Legend  of  Devil's  Lake 120 

The  Last  Camp-Fire 125 

iWiscellaneous. 

A  Tale  of  the  Road 129 

The  Crystal  Prison       134 

Dividing  the  World  (from  the  German) 140 

At  the  Doors  (from  the  German) 142 

Tongues  of  Flame 143 


^ongjs  of  f  at'ti^. 


SONGS    OF    FAITH. 


CRYPT   AND   CATHEDRAL. 

'T'HE  pile  of  a  great  cathedral  stood, 

In  the  ages  long  ago, 
On  the  marge  where  the  great  Rhine  river  flowed 

To  the  breadth  of  the  sea  below; 
And  under  the  deep,  dim  arch  and  nave, 

Where  the  river  washed  the  walls. 
Was  the  gloomy  crypt,  a  waiting   grave, 

With  its  silent,  shadowy  halls. 

When  the  morning  struggled  through  windows  low, 

When  the  sunset  fell  aslant, 
A  hooded  friar,  with  utterance  slow, 

Rehearsed  the  Litany  Chant 
With  a  choir  of  boys  from  streets  and  lanes. 

Who  stood  where  the  death-damp  dripped. 
And  sang  together  the  friar's  strains, 

In  the  great  cathedral's  crypt. 
13 


14  ETCHINGS  IN   VERSE. 

And  the  friar  said,  "As  each  one  learns 

The  chant  in  this  prison-gloom, 
He  shall  pass,  by  a  stair  that  winds  and  turns, 

To  the  great  cathedral  room; 
He  shall  stand  in  a  surplice  white  as  snow, 

Where  the  lights  of  the  altar  fall, 
And  the  voice  of  his  song  shall  rise  and  flow 

Like  a  glory  along  the  wall/' 

Oh !  world-wide  prison,  girt  with  graves, 

The  songs  you  echo  now. 
When  the  singers  learn,  shall  lift  their  waves 

Where  the  veiled  angels   bow; 
The  sound  of  the  harps  reverberates. 

The  altar-lights  are  aglow. 
But  the  full  cathedral-service  waits 

For  the  singers  from  below. 


SIBYL    AND   SAINT. 

CROM  the  Cumaean  rock  a  wailing  voice, 
*      That  was  not  the  cry  of  the  sea, 
Sent  up  to  the  Tarquin's  gloomy  throne 
A  message  of  destiny. 

He  could  not  read,  so  he  buried  the  book, 
And  strengthened  bars  and  walls : 

In  vain;  the  SibyPs  voice  yet  haunts 
The  Tarquin's  empty  halls. 

From  the  Patmos  rock  a  singing  voice 

Floats  to  the  western  sea, 
And  the  crumbling  arches  hear  the  tones 

Of  an  open  prophecy. 

"Seal  not  the  book,"  so  said  the  Saint 
To  the  world  by  the  sunset  sea ; 

Who  will,  may  read  on  the  Roman  hills 
The  Sibyl's  mystery. 


15 


THE   RAVEN    AND  THE    DOVE. 


He  sent  forth  a  raven,  which  went  to  and  fro.  —  Gen.  viii.  7. 
And  the  dove  came  in  to  him  in  the  evening.  —  Gen.  viii.  11, 


T^HE  arms  of  a  great  unrest  had  flung, 
*     Like  the  arms  of  a  shoreless  sea, 
With  hatches  down,  my  Life  along, 
Sealed  dark  in  its  mystery. 

Helpless  I  rocked  in  the  foamy  grave, 

Or  shivered  upon  the  crest. 
While  every  sob  of  every  wave 

Found  an  echo  in  my  breast. 

There  was  no  hand  upon  the  wheel. 

On  the  yards  no  shred  of  sail ; 

Drifted  my  barque's  unsteady  keel 

Down  the  gray  path  of  the  gale. 
16 


THE  T{AVEN  AND   THE  T>OVE.  17 

Within  my  heart  a  Thought  was  caged, 

Fierce- eyed  and  strong  of  wing, 
That  bolder  grew  as  tempests  raged, — 

A  wild  undaunted  thing. 


Perhaps  its  eye  could  pierce  the  rage  \ 

Of  passion's  stormy  roll,  I 

And  bring  me  news  of  anchorage,  i 

And  haven  for  my  soul.  ■ 

Perhaps  its  wing,  that  sports  with  Death, 

Beyond  the  storm  could  fly,  1 

And  find  in  lands  of  summer  breath  j 

The  end  of  mystery.  ^ 

I  drew  the  window  back  and  sent  1 

This  fierce-eyed  Thought  abroad,  } 
And  I  saw  it  plunge,  with  wings  down-bent, 

In  quest  for  Life  and  God.  ^ 

1 

What  storm  could  break  its  flashing  wing?  :; 

Or  stay  it  from  the  shore?  \ 

I  waited,  but  my  brave  storm-king  \ 

Came  back  to  me  no  more.  \ 


1 8  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

Ah  !  the  restless  Thought  flew  east  and  west : 

What  cared  it  for  my  woe, 
Since  it  found  its  aim  and  only  rest 

In  its  wanderings  to  and  fro? 

II. 
A  meek-eyed  Thought  was  in  my  breast, 

Timid  in  voice  and  form. 
How  it  loved  the  shelter  of  the  nest ! 

I  flung  it  against  the  storm. 

A  far-off"  note  across  the  bars 
Of  the  gray  clouds  c^me  to  me, 

As  if  from  the  veiled  and  silent  stars,  — 
A  song  in  a  minor  key. 

As  my  bird  rose  up  o'er  the  sea  so  wide, 

I  knew  it  had  found  the  art 
Of  climbing  the  storm  on  the  rising  tide 

Of  a  song  from  a  trembling  heart. 

Ah !   weary  day ;  but  at  eve  I  heard, 

Across  the  sobbing  sea, 
The  plaintive  song  of  a  tired  bird 

Come  floating  back  to  me. 


THE  T^AVEN  AND   THE  T>OVE.  19 

Oh  !  fading  light  of  a  day  how  brief, 

Fading  on  sea  and  land, 
And  my  timid  Dove  with  an  olive-leaf 

Falls  to  my  outstretched  hand. 


And  the  leaf  is  green.     Still  rocks  my  barque 
In  the  waves  and  the  deepening  night, 

But  my  heart  is  still;  for  past  the  dark 
Is  the  world  of  Life  and  Light. 


GUIDANCE. 


A  LONG  the  keys  a  child's  hand  strayed, 
And  discords  filled  the  air; 
Even  so  my  blundering  heart,  I  said, 
That  seeks  to  voice  its  prayer. 


I  have  no  art  to  shape  my  speech, 

My  thoughts,  unsteady,  stray 
Amid  the  countless  cares  that  reach 

From  dawn  to  darkening  day. 

The  melody  I  fain  would  Hft 

Breaks  up  in  jangled  chords. 
Through  which  the  voiceless  longings  drift 

That  cannot  rise  to  words. 

n. 
The  mother's  hands  the  child's  surround. 

Knowledge  and  love  combine. 
That  unskilled  fingers  may  give  sound 

To  thoughts  or  hopes  divine. 


GUIDANCE,  21 

And  those  who  hear  the  notes  expand 

Along  the  evening's  calm, 
Cannot  divide  the  baby's  hand 

From  mother's  circling  palm. 

O  Love  Divine  !  that  reachest  down 

To  choose  the  keys  for  me, 
Amid  each  wild,  discordant  tone 

Discerning  melody, 

Lay  Thou  the  hand  of  grace  along 

My  heart,  and  softly  wreathe 
Amid  my  failures  the  sweet  song 

Of  hope  I  cannot  breathe. 

When  round  me  evening's  shadows  flow 

And  the  lesson  is  all  done, 
Only  my  heart  and  God  will  know 

His  hand  and  mine  were  one. 


A    LAUREL  SPRAY.  j 

1 

Xl/HERE  the  rock  goes  sheer  to  the  lake  below,  j 

Far  up  on  the  lichened  wall  } 

The  starry  spray  of  a  laurel  bough  \ 

Looks  up  to  the  bastions  tall, — 

Looks  up  to  the  deep  blue  silent  sea,  ! 

Clinging  close  to  the  rock  the  while,  ■ 
And  starry  and  white  —  all  timidly  — 

Looks  down  on  me  with  a  smile.  ^ 

1 

Could  I  cling  so,  I  wonder,  holding  fast  I 

On  the  perilous  front  of  things,  ; 

With  an  eye  of  longing  upward  cast,  ; 

And  a  rooting  of  faith  that  clings?  * 
With  only  a  stone  for  a  resting-place. 

In  some  lone  and  far  defile,  : 
Could  I  touch  my  rock  with  a  lowly  grace, 

And  toss  to  the  world  a  smile? 


WHEREFORE. 

T  DROP  my  question  down  the  far 
''•     Clear  depths  of  Heaven's  mystery, 

As  reverently  as  to  the  sea 
Descends  sometimes  a  falling  star, 

And  all  is  still.  The  waves,  indeed. 
In  murmurs  deep  upon  the  shore 
Whisper  of  gain,  of  comforts  more 

Abounding  where  is  sorest  need. 

Of  service  given  by  those  who  wait. 
Of  sweetness  from  the  flower  pressed. 
Of  crowns  with  lustre  all  unguessed, 

Beyond  the  veil,  within  the  gate. 

But  the  deep  sea  glides  on  so  still. 
My  star  is  quenched  within  its  waves; 
All  questions  find  their  voiceless  graves 

In  the  great  flood  of  God's  great  will. 


24  ETCHINGS  IN   l/ERSE, 

Philosophy,  in  stately  flow, 

Rhymes  its  proud  reasons  far  and  wide ; 

But  Faith  looks  down  the  silent  tide, 
And  meekly  whispers,  "  Even  so." 


A  SUMMER   REVERY.  ; 

'X'HE  breath  that  whirls  yon  leaflet  round,  | 

^      Or  bends  the  grain  in  measured  waves,  J 

Hath  its  helm  set  in  that  profound  '\ 

Where  God  is.     All  the  far-off  caves  \ 

Of  ^olus  are  shaped  by  Him.     Even  so  i 

My  wandering  breath  of  faint  desire,  } 

Is  it  not  His?     Doth  He  not  know  ] 

Its  path,  and  all  its  flight  inspire? 

Across  the  sunset's  throbbing  glow 

Yon  fleecy  cloud,  how  aimlessly  ■ 

Drifts  on  and  on,  and  yet  I  know  "i 

God's  will  is  all  its  liberty.  | 

Oh  !  that  to  my  fancy,  aimless  too,  \ 

The  current  of  the  skies  were  given,  i 

My  lightest  thought,  with  drawing  true,  ] 

Setting  toward  the  port  of  heaven.  \ 


26  ETCHINGS  IN    yERSE. 

And  when  I  in  my  pride  rebel, 

Or  in  my  darkness  feel  despair, 
Let  me  but  think,  this  world  —  as  well 

Its  sullen  storm  and  its  calm  air  — 
Is  not  more  surely,  softly  wound 

By  yon  blue  arms  of  bending  sky. 
Than  all  my  life  is  folded  round 

By  God's  love  —  oh!  how  boundlessly. 


A 


MY    ROBIN. 

LITTLE  robin  came  to  me 
A-tiptoe  on  the  winter's  edge; 
Behind  him,  storms  hung  gloomily. 
He  poised  upon  their  yielding  ledge. 

His  velvet  breast  was  full  and  red, 
A  warm  light  lit  his  liquid  eye, 

And  then  —  although  mid  grasses  dead 
He  walked  —  I  knew  the  prophecy. 

Not  anywhere  a  flower  bloomed, 
Not  any  flush  on  grass  or  tree, 

But  well  I  knew  the  winter  doomed. 
Because  that  robin  came  to  me. 

Await  me  other  storms,  I  know, 
But  on  their  cold,  dissolving  slope 

Will  walk  with  plumage  all  aglow 

My  fair-eyed  red-breast  robin,  —  Hope. 
27 


VEILED. 

TN  the  half-finished  tower  of  granite  the  great  refrac- 
tor stood, 

Around  it  resounded  the  tools  of  workers  in  stone  and 
wood. 


A  veil  was  over  the  eye  that   longed    for  the  gates  of  1 

light,  j 

And  the  glance  that  could  rive  the  Pleiads  was  under  ; 

the  lids  of  night.  i 

Voiceless  and  hooded,  yet  holding  the  mysteries  deep  j 

of  the  sky,  j 

The  kingly  face  bendeth,  and  droopeth  the  burning  j 
and  marvellous  eye, — 

i 

The  eye   that   could    meet,  on  the    far-away  shores  of  J 

Creation,  the  gleams  i 

That  come  o*er  the    sunless   gulfs,  with  footfalls  silent  ! 

as  dreams.  \ 

28  i^ 

i. 


yEILED.  29 

Bowing    his   head    hke  a  discrowned    king    imprisoned  | 

in  stone,  \ 

The  shadow-girt   telescope  stands  till   the    task  of  the  \ 

workers  is  done.  \ 

) 

O   Soul !    with  a  vision   to  open   the   outermost   gates  j 

of  life,  1 

Silent  and  veiled   bending    down,  mid    the   workmen's  ■ 

clamor  and  strife.  \ 

\ 

The  Hope  that  would  fly  with  its  beacon  of  flame  to  .: 

kindle  it  far 

On  the  hills  that  rise   dimly  and    lone    past    the    light  \ 

of  the  dimmest  star,  i 

\ 

Is  hooded  and    roofed ;    and  the   Thought  which    erst  ■ 

wandered  with  God  is  stilled,  I 

Till  the  heavens  pour  light,  and  the  unveiled  soul  with  ' 

God  is  filled.  « 


AFTER  THE   RAIN. 

/^UT  of  the  sobs  of  the  winter's  storm 
^^  The  leaves  of  spring-time  grow, 
And  behind  the  drifts  of  the  apple  bloom 
Are  the  drifts  of  whirling  snow. 

The  velvet  robe  of  the  prairies  wide 
Is  wrought   by  the  shuttles  of  rain, 

And  the  robin  sings  in  the  tree  that  moaned 
With  the  March  day's  dull  refrain. 

Perhaps,  O  Soul,  it  will  yet  appear 
There  is  life  in  the  beating  rain, 

And  not  for  nought  the  shuttles  fly 
O'er  the  quivering  threads  of  pain. 

Perhaps  a  bird  will  sing  some  day 
In  the  barren  boughs  that  thrill. 

Like  stricken  harps,  with  memory 
Of  storms  that  haunt  them  still. 
30 


AN    AUTUMN    DAY. 

T   CLIMB  the  stairs  of  a  sinking  world, 

To  my  every  step   they  sway; 
The  ashen  skies  are  touched  with  death, 
But  my  soul  is  glad  to-day. 

The  low  south  wind  creeps  o'er  the  leaves 
With  step  both  sad  and  sweet; 

How  wondrous  fair  this  flashing  world, 
Thus  dying  at  my  feet. 

I  seem  to  feel  it  drift  from  me, 

Across  the  dreamy  haze, 
And  like  some  island  far  at  sea 

It  fades  along  the  days. 

And  while  it  wavers  and  grows  dim. 

Somehow  my  steps  are  set 
Upon  a  pavement  which,  unseen, 

Grows  firm  and  firmer  yet. 
31 


32  ETCHINGS  IN   VERSE. 

And  like  the  marble  rise  that  once 
Sloped  to  the  temple  high, 

Where  great  Minerva  looked  across 
The  ^gean  Sea  and  sky, 

So  climbs  my  soul  the  altar  stairs, 
Whose  landing-place  commands 

At  once  the  fading  world  below, 
And  Heaven's  rising  lands. 


THE   TEMPLE   BY  THE   SEA. 

\1  7HERE  a  mountain  sloping   shoreward   dips    lush 

grasses  in  the  sea, 
Ribbed   in  granite   veins,    and   robed    in   ivy   banners 

hanging  free. 
Stands  an  ancient  temple,  built  for  Christ  the  Lord  by 

sinful  men. 
Who  within  its  lifted  arches  chant  His  praise  in  noblest 

strain. 

Float  the  voices  of  the    blessings    outward    with    pro- 
phetic tone. 

Vex  the  ocean-queens  of    Passion   on  their   vast   and 
wandering  throne ; 

And    the    Spirit  of  all    Evil    in  that    sea    that    cannot 
rest. 

Troubled,  beats  white  arms  of  anguish  on  its  dark  and 
throbbing  breast. 
3  33 


34  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

Rise   the    vengeful    Naiads,    clutching  at    the    fair  and 

blooming  strand, 
Day  and    night  to    silent    caverns    drawing   down  the 

yielding  sand ; 
But  the  worshippers,  unshaken,  lift  their  paeans  to  the 

skies. 
And,  as  once  on  sacred  Galilee,  the   sounds  of  peace 

arise. 

Near  and  nearer  crowd  the  billows,  treading  back  the 

crumbling  shore. 
Fiercely   drowning   all   the   praises   in   their   deep   and 

hollow  roar, 
Or  with  deft  and  devilish  fingers  slipping  white  along 

the  beach. 
And  with  murmurs  smooth  and   siren  up  the  glittering 

sands  they  reach. 

Fierce  or  gentle,  working  ever  in  the  darkness  and 
the  day, 

They  have  washed  the  earth  and  flowers  from  the  tem- 
ple walls  away; 

Blandly  now,  in  mock  obeisance  and  in  triumph  pre- 
mature. 

Crouch  the  waves,  and  lay  their  pallid  lips  upon  the 
jasper  pure. 


THE   TEMPLE  BY   THE  SEA.  35 

But  the  worshippers  untremulous  chant  on  the  melody, 

And  the  blended  chords  of  peace,  good-will,  float  out 
upon  the  sea. 

Back  recoil  the  billows,  like  a  baffled  soul  that,  un- 
aware. 

Seeks  itself  to  gather  passion  from  the  depths  of  its 
despair. 

Then  the  ocean  shakes  with  thunder,  and  the  bugles 
sound  as  when 

Old  Euroclydon's  great  trumpet  smites  along  the  riven 
main. 

High  the  waves  uprear  their  crests,  and,  flinging  shat- 
tered flags  of  spray, 

Charge  along  the  darkness  where  the  sword  of  light- 
ning points  the  way. 

Poised  and  curled  an  instant,    gathering   fury    for   the 

final  shock, 
One  by  one  the  trembling  billows  break  themselves  on 

wall  and  rock, — 
Wall  and  deep-ribbed  rock,  that  from  the  passion  of 

the  sinking  flood 
Seem  to  rise  and   gleam  resplendent,  Hke  the  shining 

gates  of  God. 


36  ETCHINGS  IN  I/ERSE. 

All  along  the  sacred  arches,  where  the  light  of  even- 
ing pla>'s, 

Earth's  divinest  music  falls  in  vesper  notes  of  lowly 
praise ; 

And  the  waves,  their  white  heads  bowing,  conquered 
by  that  wondrous  song, 

Backward  swinging,  bear  its  echoes  all  the  broad  sea- 
way along. 

Star-sprent  curtains  of  Time's  evening  trail  on  spell- 
bound land  and  sea. 

While  along  the  bars  of  heaven  climbs  the  temple 
melody ; 

And  the  white-Hpped  waves  have  joined  the  anthem 
of  the  sons  of  men. 

And  around  the  Rock  of  Ages  fall  and  sob,  "Amen 
—  Amen  /  " 


SUNRISE   ON   THE   BAY.  ] 

i 
1 

'T'HE  last  white  star  had  sHpped  its  ray  \ 

Within  its  tent  of  blue ;  ^ 

The  great  sun  sends  the  level  day  I 

Along  the  world  anew;  i 

So,  Lord,  within  Thy  larger  will  I 

My  trembling  will  would  hide,  *• 

And  in  Thy  glory,  deep  and  still,  i 

Invisible  abide.  ] 

See  Sunrise  lay  her  freshened  face 

Across  the  ropes  and  spars,  .        ] 

As  Hope,  each  day  with  fairer  grace,  | 

Lights  up  her  prison  bars.  j 

Creep  the  white  sands  to  bending  waves,  ] 

That  shake  their  plumes  of  spray ;  I 

So,  Lord,  my  life  before  Thee  craves  i 

For  baptisms  day  by  day.  ■ 

37  ; 


38  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

Laughs  the  great  ocean  round  the  keel, 

Busy  the  yards  and  deck; 
The  land-locked  crafts  the  tide-wave  feel, 

White  wings  the  blue  fields  fleck; 
So,  Lord,  my  spirit  waits  for  Thee, 

Oh,  wave  of  glory  come  ! 
One  throb  of  love  shall  set  me  free, 

One  breath  shall  waft  me  home. 


REMINISCENCE. 

JVA  Y  brain  is  backward  turned  to-night, 
^  ^  *     And  to  my  senses  come 
Strangely  familiar  sights  and  thoughts, 
As  from  some  far-off  home. 

All  Memory's  doors  are  broken  through. 
The  Then  and  Now  are  one; 

Whatever  I  see  or  feel  or  do 
Before  IVe  felt  and  done. 

By  strange  reversal,  all  the  tide 

Of  being  sets  not  in 
From  future  years,  but  from  the  past; 

I  live  that  which  hath  been. 

The  faces  on  the  street  are  old  : 
I  Ve  seen  them  otherwheres ; 

The  very  songs  of  friends  come  back. 
Echoes  of  well-known  airs. 
39 


40  ETCHINGS  IN  VERSE. 

My  griefs  cannot  oppress  me  now, 

My  hopes  cannot  elate; 
Ix)ng  have  those  shadows  swept  my  path, 

Those  hopes  stood  at  my  gate. 

The  stream  runs  backward,  and  I  know 
The  freightage  of  each  wave ; 

It  only  brings  me  in  its  flow 
That  which  to  it  I  gave. 

I  wonder  have  I  lived  before 

In  some  premundane  way, 
And  are  the  sights  and  sounds  that  tire 

Doubled  from  some  far  day? 

Is  this  the  cost  of  looking  back? 

O  Memory,  close  the  door  ! 
For  I  cannot  bide  the  weariness 

Of  the  same  life  o'er  and  o'er. 

I  turn  from  the  old  farewells  and  tears, 
Wines  of  old  joys  are  stale ; 

I  bend  my  ears  to  To-morrow's  lip, 
To  listen  —  or  flushed,  or  pale. 


A    DREAM    OF   THE   CHRIST. 
A   CHRISTMAS   VISION. 

'X'HE  evening  light  fell  on  the  wall, 

Where,  in  the  shadow  mist, 
I  looked  upon  the  figures  tall 
Of  ''  Le  Triomphe  du  Christ :  '* 

Procession  vast  from  every  land 

By  our  first  parents  led, 
With  prophets,  saints,  —  a  mighty  band, — 

Round  Christ,  the  living  head. 

Apostles'  hands  His  chariot  roll. 
With  blended  strength  and  grace. 

While  saints  press  toward  the  aureole 
That  lights  the  holy  face. 

I  looked  upon  that  triumph  scene, 

Marking  its  movement  well, 
Until  the  evening  dropped  her  screen, 

And  tired  eyelids  fell. 
41 


42  ETCHINGS  IN  l^ERSE, 

I  saw  the  canvas  rise,  expand; 

From  out  its  shadows  dim 
An  angel,  stooping,  touched  my  hand, 

And  bade  me  follow  him. 


I  knew  not  how,  but  space  and  time 
Seemed  no  more  to  be, — 

As  if  that  angel  who,  sublime. 
Shall  stand  on  land  and  sea 

Had  spoken;  and  the  walls  that  bind 

Us  in  to  space  and  day. 
Like  mists  before  a  rising  wind. 

Had  all  been  blown  away. 

I  saw  the  battles  of  the  world 

For  God  and  liberty 
As  sometimes,  by  the  clouds  unfurled. 

Visions  rise  from  the  sea. 

I  saw  a  Bedouin  chief  alone 
Receive  one  word  from  God, 

Follow  that  star  that  westward  shone 
Across  Euphrates'  flood. 


^  DREAM  OF  THE  CHRIST,  43 

Around  him  desert  sands  are  whirled, 

His  moving  tents  gleam  white, 
As  once  to  find  a  newer  world 

The  dove's  wings  flashed  the  light. 

Open  the  Shechem  gateway  falls, 

Dark  Ebal  waits  for  him, 
And  glad  in  answering  blessings  calls 

To  stately  Gerizim. 

The  curling  altar-smoke  ascends. 

And  in  its  radiant  cloud 
The  Bedouin,  now  transfigured,  stands 

Abram,  the  friend  of  God. 

I  see  that  altar  cloud  uplift 

Its  rainbow  hues,  and  span 
From  Hermon  snows  to  desert  drift. 

From  Beersheba  to  Dan. 

Who  runs  may  read  its  hopeful  word, 

Needing  no  prophet's  ken; 
The  Tabernacle  of  the  Lord 

At  length  has  come  to  men. 


44  ETCHINGS  IN    yERSE. 

And  as  its  curtains  flowed  abroad 
From  rivers  to  the  sea, 

Within  it  came  the  hosts  of  God, 
A  goodly  company. 

Isaac  I  saw  as  when  he  stood 

In  field  at  eventide, 
Waiting  from  lands  beyond  the  flood 

The  coming  of  his  bride ; 

Jacob  in  life's  hope  and  review 
On  BethePs  lighted  ridge, 

Finding  betwixt  the  old  and  new 
An  angel-guarded  bridge. 

And  even  as  I  looked,  the  land 
Was  full  of  struggling  life, — 
Prophets  in  many  a  peaceful  band, 
^  And  warriors  clad  for  strife. 

I  heard  a  shout  from  Jordan's  vale 
Swell  up  to  Carmel's  crown, 

And,  lo  !  the  walls  of  Ai  reel, 
And  Jericho  falls  down. 


^  TfREAM  OF  THE  CHRIST.  45 

Along  a  hill  where  tents  like  flocks 

Were  pitched  in  proud  array, 
With  crash  and  flash  among  the  rocks, 

Stern  Gideon  won  the  day. 


I  heard  the  song  of  Deborah, 

In  passion's  sweeping  flood, 
Wheel  into  line  'gainst  Sisera 

The  olden  stars  of  God. 

And  'mid  these  scenes,  as  in  a  storm 

Warbles  a  bird's  low  strain, 
Ruth  walked,  fair  face  and  stately  form, 

And  gleaned  the  yellow  grain. 

I  saw  amid  the  wild  acclaim 

A  youth,  his  forehead  bare. 
Taking  a  crown  and  royal  name. 

Was  he  not  passing  fair? 

And  then  another,  to  him  first  sang, 

Bending  above  his  harp  : 
Then  seized  his  crown,  while  the  land  rang 

With  war-cries  wild  and  sharp. 


46  ETCHINGS  IN   l^ERSE. 

The  harp  played  on —  wrought  were  its  strains 
With  every  speech  and  tongue  — 

Till  weary  earth  from  all  her  pains 
Found  solace  in  the  song; 

And  then  the  prophets,  as  of  yore, 
Great  hearts  and  foreheads  bent. 

Stood  up,  and  all  their  faces  o*er 
Shone  sovereign  content. 

Elijah,  calm  on  Carmel's  crest, 

God's  fire  in  his  eye; 
And  with  his  face  turned  to  the  East, 

Expectant  Malachi; 

And  in  between,  that  goodly  throng 

With  life  and  daring  word. 
Singing  in  sweet  preluding  song 

The  coming  of  the  Lord,  — 

Singing  'mid  fires  and  wars'  alarms 

And  Israel's  breaking  hopes, 
As  sings  the  lark  'mid  breaking  storms, 

Along  the  sunrise  slopes. 


c^  T>REAM  OF  THE  CHRIST.  47 

And  then  the  angel  touched  my  hand, 

Lo  !  down  the  brightening  sky, 
Along  the  far-off  desert  strand, 

A  new  Star  stood  on  high. 


Its  orb,  increasing,  fairer  glowed. 

In  larger  circles  shone. 
Till  over  Zion's  hill  it  stood, 

A  white  and  stately  Sun. 

And  then  a  shadow,  dark  and  vast 

(Whether  from  earth  or  sky 
I  could  not  tell) ,  its  darkness  cast 

Over  that  burning  eye. 

That  orb  sank  back  within  its  veil. 

As  in  a  crimson  sea 
Sinks  the  spent  day,  when  great  storms  trail 

Around  it  sullenly. 

As  one  in  sleep  cannot  divide 

The  moment  from  the  hour. 
So  unto  me,  who  in  that  tide 

Of  light  by  some  strange  power 


48  ETCHINGS  IN   VERSE. 

Was  held  suspense  above  the  shade 
Of  the  still  world  below ; 

No  mark  of  any  time  was  made, 
I  knew  not  any  flow 

Of  years  or  ages,  —  all  were  one,  — 
As  down  a  stream  of  light 

That  came  from  some  unrisen  sun, 
We  sailed  above  the  night. 


Above  a  rock,  storm-washed  and  lone. 
We  paused.     An  old  man  there 

Stood  where   the  sea-mists  round  him  blown 
Were  blent  with  his  white  hair. 

We  heard  the  passion  of  his  soul 

Rise  with  the  thundering  sea, 
As  sometimes  the  great  organ's  roll 

The  singer's  voice  sets  free. 

He  spoke  of  a  far  city  fair 

As  speaks  a  child  of  home ; 
And  then,  as  in  heart-breaking  prayer, 

"Even  so,  Lord  Jesus,  come." 


^  DREAM  OF   THE  CHRIST.  49 

That  city  fair  we  could  not  see, 

But  flushing  through  the  mist 
A  hint  of  pearl,  chalcedony, 

Jasper,  and  amethyst. 


Still  onward  borne,  a  fair  land  bounds 

Like  Triton  from  the  sea; 
Like  Triton,  blowing  deathless  sounds 

Of  songful  poetry. 

Mother  of  Arts,  loved  Attica, 
Crown  of  a  world's  delights, 

Where  classic  waters  to  the  sea 
Dash  down  from  Parnes*  heights. 

The  Parthenon  the  morning  greets; 

Flashes  Minerva's  shield. 
Beacon  of  light  to  tossing  fleets 

On  -^gea's  blue  field. 

My  eye  roams  over  mart  and  shrine. 

Proud  temples  every  way. 
And  marble  gods,  that,  half-divine. 

Their  Phidias-touch  betray; 
4 


50  ETCHINGS  IN   t/ERSE, 

But  'mid  them  all  a  form  and  face 

Human,  yet  godlike  more 
Than  sculptured  gods,  with  kingly  grace 

Writ  all  his  features  o'er. 


'Mid  Cynic  sneer  and  Stoic  glance 

He  stands  all  dauntlessly; 
Olympian  Jove  in  marble  trance 

Looks  not  more  calm  than  he. 

Bent  is  his  form,  but  underneath 

His  shaggy  brows,  eyes  gleam 
Like  flaming  sword  from  out  the  sheath. 

His  words  are  like  a  stream 

That  from  some  mountain  downward  hurled 

Shoots  out  against  the  sea, 
Piercing  dark  waves  that  crested,  curled. 

Resist  it  scornfully. 

And  as  we  gazed,  the  *Mong  walls''  reeled. 

The  gods  more  pallid  grew, 
A  tremor  shook  Minerva's  shield. 

And  Schiller's  dream  was  true. 


tA  TfREAM  OF  THE  CHRIST.  51 

The  gods  of  Hellas  bend  their  brows, 

The  oracle  is  dumb, 
A  shadow  veils  Olympus'  snows, 

The  unknown  God  has  come  ! 


As  fleecy  clouds,  by  light  winds  driven, 
Float  through  an  August  day. 

So  we  down  azure  streams  of  heaven 
Southward  were  borne  away. 

Till  Afric's  sand  in  yellow  waves 
To  meet  the  sea-waves  crept, 

And  broke  around  the  royal  graves 
Where  the  great  Ptolemies  slept. 

Toward  Hypatia's  lecture  hall. 
Far  as  our  sight  could  reach. 

Crowds  surged  to  hear  the  god's  last  call 
In  woman's  silver  speech. 

But  as  she  spake  in  pleading  tone, 

Her  tuneful  words  between. 
We  heard,  across  the  desert  blown, 

The  breath  of  Augustine. 


52  ETCHINGS  IN   l^ERSE. 

It  rang  like  steel  in  battle  shock ; 

It  was  the  new  world's  cry, — 
An  echo  from  lone  Patmos*  rock, 

"  De  Civitat  Dei:' 


I  looked  across  the  ages  wide. 

Lo  !  through  Sahara  flows 
A  crystal  flood,  and  on  its  side 

The  lily  and  the  rose. 


\ 


And  over  all  the  Ethiop  lands —  \ 

From  east  to  western  flood —  ■] 

A  thousand  shafts  of  flame,  like  hands,  j 

Were  upward  stretched  to  God.  \ 

'} 
I  to  my  guide,  "The  torch,  whence  sent, 

From  what  Promethean  fount,  \ 

That  thus  enswathes  a  continent,  ' 

As  burned  the  Sinai  mount?"  j 

I 
\ 

He  smote  his  hand  upon  my  eyes. 

And  then  behold,  all  space  \ 

Spread  out  against  the  farthest  skies;  < 

We  seemed  in  every  place. 


^  DREAM  OF  THE  CHRIST.  S3     \ 

I  saw  great  Luther  theses  nail 

Upon  the  old  church  door,  I 

And  every  blow  like  doom-notes  fell                       i 

The  seven-hilled  City  o'er.  I 

Huss  in  his  flaming  winding-sheet,  '. 

Pillar  of  guidance  grand,  l 

To  lead  God's  host,  through  desert  heat,  ' 

To  a  fair  and  holy  land.  ] 

Calvin,  iconoclast  of  God, 

Granite  in  face  and  form ; 
A  Moses,  ruling  with  his  rod 

The  spirit  of  the  storm. 

Across  the  sunny  fields  of  France 

The  fiery  terror  strode ; 
For  Huguenots  the  flame  and  lance 

Burst  back  the  gates  of  God. 


Round  Britain's  isles  its  white  waves  thrilled, 

Rolled  round  a  vessel's  keel ; 
The  flapping  sail  its  hot  breath  filled. 

But  Heaven  manned  the  wheel. 


54  ETCHINGS  IN  l/ERSE. 

I  saw  it  shoot  within  the  shade 
Of  a  new  world's  greeting  pines, 

Where  guarding  rocks,  with  pearl  overlaid, 
Offered  their  sacred  shrines. 


I  saw  the  Pentecostal  tongues  [ 

Fall  like  the  falling  stars,  i 

The  wildernesses  rang  with  songs. 

The  darkness  broke  with  spars  ; 


Of  dawn,  like  golden  volleys  sent 

Athwart  the  dying  night, 
When  Phoebus,  with  his  bow  down-bent, 

Shoots  javelins  of  light. 

And  then,  as  when  in  Israel, 

The  patriots  lit  their  fires. 
Signalling  over  plain  and  dell. 

Battle  for  home  and  sires. 


So  the  great  mountain  altars  were 
Whichever  way  I  turned, 

Alps,  Andes,  lit  the  quivering  air. 
The  Himalayas  burned. 


^  T>REAM  OF  THE  CHRIST.  55 

As  often  when  the  sun  has  set 

And  paints  no  more  the  fields, 
Above  the  world  it  lingers  yet, 

And  with  deft  fingers  builds, 


Uprears  a  palace,  radiant,  rare, 

In  magic  symmetry, 
Blazoned  with  every  color  fair 

For  the  young  stars  to  see; 

So  while  an  evening  hush  stole  o^er 

The  world  we  looked  upon, 
Those  mountain  flames  to  heaven's  shore 

Uprose  and  blent  as  one, — 

Blent  and  rolled  inward,  fold  on  fold, 

Of  plastic  fire  inwrought, 
Until  the  farthest  heavens  a  mould 

Apocalyptic  caught. 

Appeared  the  jasper  walls,  four-square, 

Ten  thousand  furlongs  high. 
With  crystal  dome  that  everywhere 

Rose  through  the  starry  sky. 


56  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

But  whether  flames  from  earth  upbent 
Had  wrought  the  vision  there, 

Or  whether  down  from  heaven  sent 
That  city  of  the  air, 

I  could  not  tell;  I  only  knew, 
As  flashed  each  jasper  wall, 

The  saints*  and  poets*  dream  was  true : 
The  Mother  of  us  all 

Her  wandering  children  would  enfold, 

Earth's  sorrows  all  above. 
Within  her  arms  of  pearl  and  gold, 

Within  her  heart  of  love. 

Lowered  on  wings  of  rosy  flame 

I  saw  the  glassy  floors. 
And  peoples  everywhither  came 

Around^  its  pearl- set  doors. 

Prophets,  long  prisoners  of  their  dream. 
Basked  in  the  opening  rays; 

Paul  looked  as  when  he  met  the  gleam 
Of  the  Nubian  lion*s  gaze ; 


^  T>REAM  OF  THE  CHRIST.  57 

John  on  its  threshold  stood  again 

With  that  seraphic  awe 
That  Ut  his  face  on  Patmos,  when 

Its  prototype  he  saw. 

And  in  the  shadow  rim  that  lay 

Beyond  earth's  belt  of  light, 
Dark  faces  pressing  toward  the  day 

Greeted  the  vision  bright. 

From  Plato's  brow  the  shadow  fell, — 

Was  that  his  city,  too, 
For  which  his  faith  had  builded  well, 

And  better  than  he  knew? 

And  near  him  his  great  teacher  bent 

Toward  the  central  blaze. 
Not  with  the  thinker's  thought  intent, 

But  with  the  prophet's  praise ; 

The  Bard  of  Chios,  no  more  blind. 

Rising  from  his  long  night. 
Saw  all  the  visions  of  his  mind 

Solved  in  that  ray  of  white. 


58  ETCHINGS  IN   yERSE. 

I  watched  the  sunless  light  enfold 
All  lands  in  centric  rings, 

Till,  lo  !  above  the  streets  of  gold 
I  heard  the  sound  of  wings. 


I  woke.     The  light  fell  on  the  wall, 

Full  on  the  canvas  shone ; 
But  prophets  and  saints  had  faded  all. 

And  I  saw  Christ  alone. 


^ongjej  of  Sentiment. 


SONGS    OF   SENTIMENT. 


MY   CENTRIPETAL. 

A  S  looking  to-night  to  the  concave  dark, 
^^^       And  listening,  bowed  with  awe. 

To  the  music  that  climbs  on  infinite  bars. 
To  the  rhythm  of  heavenly  law, 
I  fancied  the  thought  of  a  sensitive  star. 
When  it  hung  in  that  exquisite  pause. 
Where  the  slackening  force  of  its  outward  flight 
Was  yielding  to  central  laws. 


One  moment  it  trembled  between  the  glow  ^ 

Of  the  sun,  with  its  bands  of  light,  j 

And  the  wave-like  shadow-drift  that  fell  | 

Somewhere  on  the  shores  of  night.  \ 

One  moment  between  the  impulse  wild  j 

That  shot  it  along  the  sky,  - 

And  the  force,  that  in  curves  of  graceful  sweep,  ■ 

Would  give  it  an  orbit  for  aye.  ; 
6i 


62  ETCHINGS  IN   VERSE. 

Was  it  foolish  to  think  these  thoughts  to-night, 

When  the  stars  came  one  by  one, 
And  the  Milky  Way,  like  a  vessel's  wake, 

Bloomed  white  in  the  track  of  the  sun? 
Was  it  only  a  fancy  that  cheered  my  walk 

From  the  dusty  ways  of  the  town, 
To  the  little  gate  that  bars  me  in, 

While  the  world  goes  up  and  down? 

Nay !  rather  my  life  has  the  mood  of  the  star,  - 

Having  passed  the  dread  suspense 
'Twixt  the  central  drawings  of  love  and  light. 

And  the  world's  tract,  dark  and  dense. 
It  has  stood  in  a  vibrant  equipoise 

On  the  line  that  sharply  bars 
The  glow  of  one  centre  from  the  gleams 

Of  a  thousand  wandering  stars. 

I  yield  to  the  fireside  light  that  draws 

My  life  to  its  orbit  curve, 
And  over  it  throws  the  golden  cords 

That  never  will  slacken  or  swerve. 
What  care  I  now  for  the  strife  of  tongues, 

And  the  highway's  restless  roar? 
For  the  outer  world  is  less  and  less, 

And  the  inner  more  and  more. 


IMY  CENTRIPETAL  63 

The  cedar  and  palm  have  bent  to  the  blast, 

And  fallen  on  Lebanon's  brow, 
And  the  apples  of  Youth's  Hesperides 

Are  ashes  and  bitterness  now. 
But  higher  above  my  door-way  climbs 

My  vine  with  its  evening  shade. 
And  the  fig-tree  puts  forth  tender  leaves, 

That  never  will  fall  or  fade. 

So  I  muse  as  I  turn  from  the  haunts  of  men ; 

Though  their  shadows  are  on  my  track. 
Yet  the  evening  lamp  of  home,  I  know, 

Has  power  to  beat  them  back. 
No  more  a  man-worried  man,  but  a  king. 

Stoops  under  my  cottage  door; 
For  the  outer  world  is  less  and  less. 

And  the  inner  more  and  more. 


THE    HOUSE-TOP   WALK.^ 

VI/EATHER-STAINED     and    beaten    and     empty 
now, 

The  long,  long  vigil  is  o'er; 
No  longer  the  ships  go  out  to  sea, 

And  the  watchers  wait  no  more. 
Sailors  and  watchers  are  resting  now, 

Some  on  this  sandy  lea, 
And  some,  with  the  sea-grass  round  them  twined. 

Are  asleep  in  the  wandering  sea. 

But  it  comes  to  me,  as  I  walk  the  street 

Of  the  quaint  historic  town, 
A  vision  these  scenes  have  looked  upon 

In  the  years  so  long  agone,  — 

1  Along  the  ridge  of  the  roof  of  many  houses  in  Nantucket 
there  is  a  platform  railed  in,  called  "  tbe  walk/' from  which  the 
families  of  the  sailors  were  wont  to  watch  the  outgoing  and  incom- 
ing ships. 

64 


THE  HOUSE-TOP   WALK.  65 

A  vision  of  struggle  with  storm  and  tide 

By  the  brave  ones,  called  to  roam 
On  the  wrathful  way  of  the  ocean  wide, 

And  a  vision  of  love  at  home. 


On  the  house-top  walk  in  the  morning  gray. 

And  yet  in  the  deepening  night, 
They  watch  for  the  flash  of  a  homeward  sail, 

Or  the  swing  of  a  masthead  light. 
It  is  morn  again,  and  again  *tis  eve. 

So  the  days  drag  one  by  one ; 
And  the  steadfast  thing  in  the  changeful  scene 

Is  the  love  that  will  have  its  own. 

So  the  hair  grows  gray  and  the  faces  thin. 

For  the  sea  is  empty  still; 
And  the  lonely  years  will  have  their  way, 

And  God  will  have  His  will. 
But  the  watch  is  o'er.     What  matters  now 

Though  the  ships  drift  endlessly. 
Though  some  are  asleep  in  the  graveyard  there. 

And  some  in  the  wandering  sea? 


PAGANINI. 


TJE  shambled  awkward  on  the  stage,  the  while 
Across  the  waiting  audience  swept  a  smile. 


With  clumsy  touch,  when  first  he  drew  the  bow. 
He  snapped  a  string.     The  audience  tittered  low. 

Another  stroke  !     Off  flies  another  string ! 
With  laughter  now  the  circling  galleries  ring. 

Once    more !      The    third    string    breaks    its    quivering 

strands, 
And  hisses  greet  the  player  as  he  stands. 

He  stands,  —  the  while  his  genius,  unbereft. 
Is  calm ;    one  string  and  Paganini  left ! 

He  plays.     The  one  string's  daring  notes  uprise 
Against  the  storm,  as  if  they  sought  the  skies. 

66 


TAGANINI.  67 

A  silence  falls  —  then  awe;   the  people  bow, 
And  they  who  erst  had  hissed,  are  weeping  now. 

And  when  the  last  note  trembling  died  away, 
Some  shouted  "Bravo!"   some  had  learned  to  pray. 


THE  CANTATRICE. 

A    DAUGHTER  of  the  gods,  she  sang 

Of  glory,  love,  and  art 
In  godlike  notes,  o'er  marble  lips, 
And  from  a  marble  heart. 

Oh,  songful  Undine  !     Could  I  woo 
And  wed,  and  make  her  mine, 

I  'd  break  her  queenly  heart,  —  and  then 
Her  song  would  be  divine. 
68 


LOVE. 


DENELOPE  weaveth  o'er  and  o'er, 

As  faithful  waiteth  she 
Her  lord  from  far  Calypso's  shore. 
Oh,  rare  Penelope  ! 


Old  love  hath  triumph  over  new 
Old  love  hath  mighty  arms, 

Reaching  adown  the  far  sea's  blue 
To  unbind  Calypso's  charms. 

Proud  sails  again  Ulysses  spreads, 

Flieth  his  heart  before ; 
Penelope  weaveth  endless  threads, 

And  waiteth  on  the  shore. 

The  siren's  isle  must  passed  be, — 
Ah,  Love,  port  hard  the  nelm, 

Lest  the  hope  of  true  Penelope 
The  song-waves  overwhelm. 
69 


70  ETCHINGS  IN  VERSE. 

Floats  the  mad  music  on  the  wind, 
But  the  sailor's  ears  so  fast 

Great  Love  did  close,  and  sweetly  bind 
Ulysses  to  the  mast. 

The  fair  ship  flieth  on  and  on, 
Love  sets  her  needle  straight; 

Penelope,  thy  faith  hath  won, — 
Ulysses's  at  the  gate. 


ADRIFT. 

A     CHILD  with  daring  hand 

Stooped  down  and  pushed  her  tiny  boat 
From  the  shelving  shore  ;  she  watched  it  float 
Seaward,  far  out  from  land. 

At  eve,  when  day  was  done. 
She  wept  because  the  boat  no  more 
Came  back,  —  stranded  on  some  far  shore 

Around  the  setting  sun. 

Sweet  child  !  how  like  us  all. 
We  push  our  boats  and  wait  in  vain. 
No  sail  is  on  the  restless  main. 

And  the  far  shadows  fall. 
71 


ASPIRATION. 


When  for  earth  too  fancy-loose 
And  too  low  for  heaven. 

Mrs.  Browning. 


T   ARK  from  English  meadows  springing, 

Level  bars  of  sunrise  climbing, 
At  the  azure  gateway  ringing 
All  thy  liquid  soul  in  rhyming 
Music  for  the  nest  below; 
Impulse  of  thy  flight  supernal 

Checked  by  love  that  downward  calleth, — 
Love  that  from  the  blue  eternal 
To  the  nest  of  birdlings  falleth 

In  a  wavering  flight  and  slow. 

Ever  thus,  my  soul,  thy  song. 
Though  it  break  against  the  sky, 

Feels  the  earthward  drawing  strong, 
And  relapses  to  a  sigh. 
72 


ASPIRATION.  73 

And  the  wing  that  cleft  the  air 

With  an  impulse  brave  and  true, 
Heaven  yielding,  bendeth  where 

Gleams  the  world  in  transient  dew. 


Eagle  of  the  mountain,  springing 

Out  upon  the  airy  ocean, 
Beating  back  its  storm-waves,  swinging 

Cloudward  with  a  daring  motion 

Till  the  heights  of  space  are  won ; 
Bruised  and  buffeted  by  racking 

Of  the  storms,  he  sinketh  weary. 
Slow,  unconquered,  backward  tracking. 

Like  a  victor,  to  his  eyrie. 

With  his  eye  upon  the  sun. 

Ever  thus,  my  soul,  thy  flight 

Overreaches  not  the  cloud, 
And,  though  brave  thou  spurn  the  night. 

It  will  bind  thee  in  its  shroud. 
Though  thy  wings  be  downward  bent, 

Yet  to  thee  be  triumph  won. 
If,  with  plumage  torn  and  rent. 

Thou  canst  look  upon  the  sun. 


IMMORTALITY. 

T  BENT  o'er  a  plant  that  rose  to  throw 

To  my  hand  one  waxen  bloom, 
And  a  viewless  censer  to  and  fro 

Wafted  clouds  of  rare  perfume. 
From  a  desert  plain  a  wild  wind  swept 

With  fierce  and  fiery  breath ; 
It  fell  where  my  heart  its  vigil  kept, 

And  smote  my  flower  to  death. 

I  stood  where  a  silver-bladed  stream 

Cleft  the  old  gray  hills  in  twain, 
And  its  song  was  the  music  of  the  dream 

That  made  me  a  boy  again; 
But  the  stream  ran  on  with  shining  feet, — 

Ran  toward  the  dying  day, — 
And  its  white  lips  wildly  seemed  to  greet 

Waters  so  far  away. 
74 


IMMORTALITY.  75 

I  stood  where  a  million  stars  shone   fair 

Through  the  flush  of  a  summer  night, 
But  only  one,  down  the  bending  air, 

Touched  me  with  its  shaft  of  light. 
One  moment  above  me  it  stately  stood. 

Like  the  Bethlehem  Star  of  old, 
And  then,  in  its  own  white  glory-flood 

Wheeled  under  the  sea-waves  cold. 

But  my  cloud  of  perfume  somewhere  dips 

Its  viewless  wings  to  me. 
And  the  little  streamlet's  hungry  lips 

Have  kissed  some  soundless  sea. 
My  fallen  star,  through  other  skies. 

Some  fadeless  landscape  laves. 
And  yet  for  me,  with  a  sweet  surprise, 

T  will  touch  the  jasper  waves. 


HALF   WAY    ON. 


/^^RASSES  entangled  with  shadows, 
^^     Branches  that  sway  overhead, 
Vistas  down  spangled  meadows, 

And  a  brook  with  a  noiseless  tread : 


Out  of  the  hills  of  the  morning 
It  winds  a  widening  stream, 

And  shows,  to  the  evening  turning, 
A  network  of  shadow  and  gleam. 

A  thread  from  the  purple  mountains 

Of  the  dewy  early  day. 
Nurtured  by  all  the  fountains 

That  spring  in  the  grassy  way. 

A  deep,  wide  river  throbbing 
On  a  dim  and  sounding  shore. 

With  white  lips  tremulous  sobbing 
At  the  twilight^s  dusky  door. 
76 


HALF  WAY  ON.  77 

Which  to  the  heart  is  dearer, 

The  brook  of  the  morning  bright, 
Or  the  wave  that,  white  and  weary, 

Kisses  the  shores  of  night? 

Fair  is  the  gate  of  the  Even, 

And  fair  the  Morning  dews; 
Like  Paul  'twixt  the  earth  and  the  heaven, 

I  know  not  which  to  choose. 


PRESENTIMENT. 

PROM  the  silent  gates  of  long  ago 

Came,  with  presentient  beat, 
A  shadow  of  voiceless  mystery, 

And  now  it  hath  touched  my  feet. 

Shall  I  question  the  sad-eyed  prophet? 

Shall  I  bid  the  dark  veil  say 
What  sibyl  face  it  keepeth 

Hidden  from  sight  away? 

What  is  that  heavy  portent? 

Is  it  the  brow  of  Jove? 
Or,  under  the  stormy  vestment. 

The  face  and  heart  of  Love? 

I  cannot  tell;  but  the  shadow 

That  so  overflows  my  feet 
Has  sent  to  my  heart  a  feeling 

Of  peace  that  is  strange  and  sweet. 
78 


TRESENTIMENT,  79 

No  more  will  I  seek  thy  visage, 

Sphinx  of  my  desert  way; 
Through  the  night  let  Silence  keep  thy  lips, 

They  will  speak  at  the  dawn  of  day. 


UNSPOKEN. 

TJOVV  smooth  the  speech  of  summer  waves, 

Telling  their  moods  to  me  ! 
But  in  vain  I  listen  for  the  voice 
Of  the  dim  and  olden  sea. 

From  the  grave  of  the  fair  Atlantis 
Comes  neither  breath  nor  sound, 

And  the  stillness  of  the  upper  Pole 
Guards  the  lost  Eden  round. 

Then  speak,  O  Soul !  thy  word  to  me 

With  lightest  summer  breath  : 
But  my  heart  goes  out  to  the  spell- bound  sea 

That  silent  lies  beneath. 

I  bend  my  ear  to  the  silver  speech, 

But  the  deeper  soul  I  keep 
For  the  waveless,  breathless  silence  where 

The  dearest  mysteries  sleep, 
80 


UNSPOKEN. 

And  I  wait;  for  I  know  the  heavy  depths 

Will  yet  bring  gifts  to  me, 
And  the  lost  Atlantis  bloom  again 

In  the  midst  of  the  crystal  sea. 


BLENDING   CHORDS. 

Space  is  ample,  east  and  west, 
But  two  cannot  go  abreast. 

Emerson. 

'T'HE  heavens  are  full  of  stars  whose  mood 

Draws  each  to  all,  yet  every  one 
Moves  on  in  stately  solitude, 
A  sad,  self-centred,  lonely  sun. 

So  draws  my  soul  to  thee,  O  Man  ! 

Though  stellar  spaces  intervene ; 
And  yet  across  my  orbit's  plan 

To  walk  with  thee  in  vain  I  lean. 

A  cosmic  ruin  waits  the  star 

That  breaks  its  bands  its  twin  to  greet ; 
But  heaven's  vastest  spaces  are 

The  bonds  for  fellowship  —  how  sweet ! 
82 


"BLENDING   CHORDS.  2>z 

Along  the  rising  octave  bars 

Of  distance,  infinite  and  lone, 
The  well-sphered  music  of  the  stars 

Breaks  round  the  white  and  central  throne. 

Somewhere,  afar,  my  minor  strain. 

Trembling,  with  other  songs  will  blend; 

And  I  shall  know,  in  its  refrain, 
The  fellowship  that  hath  no  end. 


A    DREAM. 

I  DREAMED  a  dream  where  setting  suns 

Purpled  the  ocean's  rim, 
While  long  slant  waves  across  the  beach 
Chanted  an  evening  hymn, — 

A  dream  I  could  not  tell  to  men; 

Earth  never  learned  its  speech,  — 
A  longing  in  the  voiceless  soul 

For  something  out  of  reach. 

And  now  I  walk  again  with  men, 

In  life's  keen  fever-fret. 
And  through  the  glare  of  common  things 

My  vision  haunts  me  yet ; 

It  plays  across  my  moods,  my  cares, 

Like  shadows  on  a  stream. 
And  calls  me  —  holds  me  —  unawares. 

Oh,  might  I  live  my  dream  ! 
84 


NEARING    HOME. 

*' TTE    is    rapidly   failing,"  —  so    smooth    came   the 

-'•  ^  stroke 

Down    the    telegraph    line.     Through    the    silence     it 

broke 
On  a  heart  well-inured  to  such  crashes  ere  now. 
And  yet,  it  was  strange  !     That  father  whose  brow 
Was  held  clear  toward  Heaven  and  level  to  men 
Through  the  storms   that   blew  out   of  the   threescore 

and  ten. 
Whose    strength   seemed    perennial    like    that   of    the 

pine,  — 
"He  is  failing," — strange  words  down   the   telegraph 

line. 

Groans  the  train   through  the   night,  through  city  and 

land; 
The  race  is  with  Death  for  the  grasp  of  that  hand. 

85 


86  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

"  Nearing    home  —  nearing    home/*   sing    the    wheels 

as  they  fly; 
Nearing  home  in  the  light  of  the  fading  sky. 
I,    swift    to    the    home    that    has   drawn    me     these 

years, 
And  he  unto  his,  in  the  sphere  beyond  spheres : 
To   the    father   on   earth,  through  the   gloom-gates   of 

even; 
To    the    Father    above,    through    the    pearl-gates    of 

heaven. 
Ah !  which  shall  be  first  in  this  race  for  the  home, 
House    below  —  house    on    high  —  which   the    sooner 

shall  come? 

It    is   done;    thou    art    first.      Take    the    crown,    oh, 

thou  best 
Of  all  fathers  !     I  meekly  salute  thee  at  rest. 


AT    LAST. 

A  S  birds  by  counter  currents  flung 
^~^     Along  the  yielding  air, 
So  fly  my  agitated  thoughts 
Across  the  Everywhere. 

One  instant  on  some  Pisgah  height 

I  catch  the  roll  of  seas, 
When  straight,  'mid  beasts  of  prey,  I  fall 

At  bay  upon  my  knees. 

The  mists  one  moment  bury  me 
Beneath  their  darkening  pall. 

Again  their  gates  of  amethyst 
Roll  back,  and  show  me  all, — 

The  all  of  time,  its  recompense 
That  comes  to  balance  pain; 

The  all  of  God,  whose  fulness  leaves 
No  space  to  want  again. 
^7 


88  ETCHINGS  IN  VERSE. 

What  matters  it?     An  atom  blown 

Across  the  sea  or  land, 
Whose  origin  is  Heaven's  throne, 

Whose  destiny,  God's  hand : 

It  shall  survive  the  sport  of  chance. 

Survive  its  own  unrest; 
The  final  wind  that  picks  it  up 

Shall  dash  it  to  God's  breast. 

I  have  no  science  to  forecast 
The  way  that  wind  shall  blow, 

Save  only  this,  the  will  of  God, 
It  never  shall  o'erfiow. 

Within  this  faith,  behind  its  veil, 

I  keep  my  anchor  grip, 
And  hold  my  forehead  to  the  storm. 

My  finger  to  my  lip. 

Some  suns  there  are  whose  light  not  yet 
Has  found  these  lower  skies. 

Some  thoughts  of  God  are  on  their  way; 
I  wait  their  keen  surprise. 


ONONO-KOMATCH. 

TN  the  Pantheon  group  of  the  Land  of  the  Sun, 
The  first  'mid  the  great  and  revered  of  Nipon, 
Is  the  portrait  of  her  who  gave  fortune,  rank,  love. 
For  faith  in  her  art.     How  she  patiently  strove 
To  put  into  voice  what  the  poet-soul  feels 
Is  shown  by  the  canvas,  where  meekly  she  kneels 
By  the  basin  of  water,  and  washes  away 
The  lines  all  unworthy  the  light  of  the  day. 

When  Charlemagne    opened  the   new  day  for   France, 

And  Haroun-al-Rachid  with  a  pen  for  a  lance 

Burst  open  the  Bosphorus  gate  to  the  west, 

That  its  letters  might  enter  Arabia  the  blest. 

Did  the  world  know  that  far  in  the  unspoken  seas, 

On  a  shut,  dreaming  isle,  was  a  greater  than  these, — 

A    woman,    who,    while     they    were    vaunting     great 

themes. 
Blotted    out    her    best    word,    because    false    to    her 

dreams  ? 


90  ETCHINGS  IN  I^ERSE, 

As  she  stands  at  the  Temple  of  Fame  with  her  hands 
All  empty  and  piteous,  while  full-jewelled  bands 
Bind  the  foreheads  of  artists  and  poets  and  kings, 
Is  this  not  her  plea,  "This  withered  life  brings 
But  itself;  no  work  that  remains  hath  it  done. 
It  poured  out  its  desolate  days  one  by  one 
In  devotion  to  thoughts  unattainably  high. 
While  others  bring  sheaves,  I  have  only  a  sigh." 

So  her  poems  are  not  in  the  Manyoshiu, 
They  are  not  in  the  treasures  of  Sandeishiu, 
(The  many-tomed  records  of  Japanese  lore, 
Which  the  diligent  sages  have  writ  o'er  and  o'er). 
The  burning  thoughts  of  her  fiery  brain 
You  will  seek  in  the  Manyoko  in  vain; 
For  when  were  there  words  that  prisons  could  be 
For  a  spirit  so  broken,  so  boundless  and  free? 


Who  lives  for  the  words  that  have  no  song, 

For  the  Truth,  'gainst   the  world's   empurpled  Wrong, 

For  the  Art  that  never  a  temple  adorns. 

And  the  Life  that  bends  for  a  crown  of  thorns. 

For  the  sunlit  cloud  of  a  dream  sublime 

That  holds  no  rain  for  the  fields  of  Time, 

Shall  find  in  the  spirit  that  breaks  with  a  sigh 

The  guerdon  of  best  immortality. 


o> 


ONONO-KOMATCH,  91 

On  the  Pantheon  walls  of  the  fair  Nipon 
Are  graven  the  songs  of  the  Land  of  the  Sun ; 
And  there,  'mid  the  sculptured  gods  of  the  brain, 
A  meek  maiden  kneeleth,  her  face  full  of  pain. 
She  is  nearest  the  altar;  her  fingers  entwine 
Round  a  manuscript,  written  with  only  one  line. 
'Tis  Onono-Komatch,  and  on  the  crushed  scroll, 
'^  My  harp-strings    are   snapped   by    the    storm    in    my 
souU^ 

Prophetic  the  sign  in  the  maiden's  hand; 
As  a  wave  white-footed  creeps  up  the  strand, 
So  the  rising  tide  of  her  Art's  despair 
Swept  off  the  poems  that  looked  so  fair. 
She  holds  in  her  heart  what  the  heart  can  feel, 
And  her  far-away  eyes,  in  wrapt  appeal. 
Are  set  to  the  Sunrise,  swift  and  strong. 
That  can  open  the  Memnon-lips  of  song. 


SHIP   AHOY! 

'T'HE  ships  of  the  year  have  touched  the  shore, 

Their  lading  has  been  good  ; 
And  as  we  count  their  treasures  o'er,  — 
Their  fine  wheat  for  our  food, 

Their  wine  of  love  our  hearts  to  cheer. 

Spices  from  Long  Ago, 
Rare  gifts  of  friendship  far  and  near. 

The  love  that  loved  us  so, — 

Our  hearts  beat  quick  to  Him  who  kept 

Our  ships  within  His  hand. 
Whose  breath,  while  we  have  toiled  or  slept, 

Has  wafted  them  to  land. 

But  from  the  treasures  at  our  feet. 

We  lift  expectant  eyes; 
The  pennons  of  a  distant  fleet 

Are  flecked  against  the  skies. 
92 


SHIP  AHOY!  93 

Afar,  like  phantom  ships,  they  ride; 

But  every  sunrise  casts 
Deeper  reflections  in  the  tide, 

And  statelier  rise  the  masts. 


The  sails,  like  pinions  of  the  gull, 
Cur\^e  forward,  sharp  and  thin ; 

The  dancing  houris  clasp  the  hull, — 
Our  ships  are  coming  in. 

What  faces  o'er  the  gunwale  lean, 

To  meet  us  on  the  strand? 
What  eyes,  alight  with  loving  sheen, 

What  stroke  of  hand  to  hand? 

What  hearts  against  our  hearts  to  fall  — 

What  loyal  steps  to  beat 
Their  march  with  ours  till  comes  the  call 

That  halts  the  weary  feet? 

Ah,  who  can  tell?     But  fair  Hope  keeps 
Her  watch  by  unknown  seas; 

And  Faith,  like  Peter,  seaward  leaps, 
And  God  be  thanked  for  these. 


^ongjs  of  CratjeU 


SONGS    OF    TRAVEL. 


MONT    BLANC. 

IVjOT  from  the  Vale  of  Chamouni, 

Where  the  flow  of  pleasant  streams 
Is  veiled  by  the  lingering  morning  mist, 
As  a  thought  may  be  clothed  in  dreams ; 

Where  the  gleaming  gates  of  the  glaciers  old 

The  stately  entrance  bar 
To  the  pinnacles  and  bastions  high 

Of  the  mountains  vast  and  far; 

Not  there,  where  the  grasses  whisper  low. 
And  the  sweet-voiced  birdlings  sing, 

Can  I  take  the  measure  of  thy  form. 
Thou  storm-wrapped,  stately  king  ! 

But  from  some  weary  Col  de  Balme, 

Lonely  and  far  and  bleak 
Where  the  voice  of  the  little  birds  is  hushed, 

And  eternal  voices  speak; 
7  97 


98  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

Where  the  world  in  dimness  sinks  away, 
And  the  purple  distance  shows 

Thine  upward  rise  of  solitude, 
And  everlasting  snows. 

Even  so  I  leave  the  paths  of  men. 
And  the  voices  that  I  love, 

In  a  daring  climb,  somewhere  to  find 
A  throne  that  is  built  above 

The  last  dim  peak  of  the  Alpine  way, 
And  beyond  a  sinking  world. 

Beyond  the  star-decked  robe  of  eve 
In  its  purple  distance  furled. 

Where  lone,  and  vast,  and  full  of  rest  — 

Worthy  the  spirit's  land. 
Worthy  the  weight  of  a  weary  faith  — 

Rises  the  throne  of  God. 


THE  JUNGFRAU. 

AITEARY  the  rugged  heights  I  climb 

To  gaze  upon  thy  form, 
Only  to  find,  in  stem  reserve, 

Thou  hast  veiled  thyself  in  storm. 

I  cannot  see  thine  icy  slope, 
But  o'er  thy  bastions  strong 

I  hear  thine  avalanchine  voice 
Pass  thundering  along. 

I  cannot  catch  its  syllables; 

Its  inarticulate  roll 
Is  like  to  that  with  which  God  sends 

His  will  across  my  soul. 

I  wait:  the  evening  light  reveals. 

Amid  the  breaking  clouds 
One  peaceful  gleam  of  radiant  snow 

Beyond  the  shattered  shrouds. 
99 


lOO  ETCHINGS  IN  I^ERSE. 

I  wait,  indeed.     At  evening  time, 

When  lifts  life's  mystery, 
One  great  white  thought  of  God  shall  speak 

His  righteousness  to  me. 


THE   STAUBBACH   FALL. 

\  17  HAT  Titan  from  yon  beetling  crag, 

Down  flung  thee,  so 
To  break  thee  on  these  jagged  rocks 
And  stop  thy  flow? 

In  vain  !  for  in  thy  fall  I  saw 

Thee  change  to  mist, 
And  waver  to  and  fro  in  gold 

And  amethyst. 

And  thus  glide  to  the  depths  below. 

As  soft  and  still 
As  falls  the  dew  when  sinks  the  sun 

Behind  the  hill. 

I  saw  thee  body  forth  thyself 

Once  more  a  stream. 
And  hasten  on  with  joyous  feet 

Of  silver  gleam. 

lOI 


I02    '  ETCHINGS  IN  l/ERSE. 

I  saw  thee  touch  the  roots  of  flowers, 

And  the  green  grass 
Did  lift  and  start  to  greener  life 

As  thou  didst  pass. 

Oh,  Staubbach  brook,  my  spirit  touch  ! 

Teach  me  the  art, 
When  rudely  flung  by  Titan  force, 

And  torn  apart, 

To  hide  awhile  within  the  veil, 

And  gather  then, 
Even  on  the  rocks,  new  speed  to  go 

And  serve  again; 

New  faith  in  Him,  who,  though  I  fall, 

Confirms  my  feet, 
And  sends  me  on  'mid  flowers  fair 

And  meadows  sweet. 


PAULUS   CONTRA    MUNDUM. 

At  my  first  answer  no  man  stood  with  me ;  ...  notwithstanding! 
the  Lord  stood  with  me.  —  2  Tim.  iv.  16,  17. 

nPHE  present  fades.     These  ruins  vast 
Glide  backward  to  the  stately  past, 
Where  they  emerge,  ruins  no  more, 
But  piles  of  marble  as  of  yore. 
Complete  from  tessellated  floor 
To  carved  dome  that  vaulted  o'er 
The  statues  and  the  marble  frieze 
Of  Phidias  and  Praxiteles. 
The  Coliseum  shades  the  sky; 
A  hollow  mountain  thrust  on  high, 
From  underneath  whose  sounding  floor 
Rises  the  Nubian  lion's  roar. 
The  Saturn  temple,  strong  and  fair, 
Leans  out  upon  the  purple  air. 
While  just  above  —  dark  tier  on  tier  — 
The  prison's  frowning  walls  appear. 
103 


104  ETCHINGS  IN   l^ERSE, 

Along  the  Via  Sacra  there, 
With  bare  head  bent  in  peaceful  prayer, 
Passes  the  feeble  form  of  Paul, 
To  stand  in  Caesar's  judgment  hall. 
Alone  !  save  Luke  —  one  heart  is  left 
Lest  life  be  all  too  much  bereft  — 
And  God ;  He  never  fails  to  stand 
WTiere  great  souls  for  Him  take  the  brand 
Of  shame  and  scorn.     And  so  they  meet  — 
Caesar  and  Paul.     Ah,  judgment  seat ! 
The  approaching  feet  are  judgment  shod, 
Thy  prisoner  looks  the  looks  of  God. 


The  hungry  lions  wait  their  prey; 
And,  Caesar,  thou  —  the  judgment  day. 
Cast  out  beyond  thy  city  wall, 
Imperial  Rome,  the  corse  of  Paul ! 
But,  see  thy  Coliseum  fall  — 
And  with  it,  thou  :    while  at  the  call 
Of  Christian  ages,  round  thy  shrines 
Full  many  a  Christian  temple  shines. 
Silent  the  Via  Sacra  now, 
Scarred  marble  faces  round  it  bow. 
Worn  columns  mark  the  way  of  doom, — 
The  monuments  on  Glory's  tomb; 


TAULUS  CONTRA  (MUNDUM.  105 

But  o'er  these  stately  stepping-stones 
Across  a  dark  world's  brightening  zones, 
I  see  a  regal  form  move  on, 
With  steps  that  lighten  like  the  sun, — 
Move  on,  from  sea  to  western  sea, 
With  only  God  for  company. 


THE  SILENT   HOUSE. 

/^  RASS-PAVED,  the  silent  road  rolls  on 
^^     Over  the  mountain  side ; 
Maple  and  birch  and  sumach  plumes 

Lie  rich  in  the  sunset's  tide. 
And  past  their  gates  of  red  and  gold 
A  lone  house  stands,  full  worn  and  old. 

Storm -scarred  are  blackened  sides  and  roof. 

Rafters  sink  one  by  one; 
Across  the  dust-strewn,  yielding  floor 

Slants  the  red  evening  sun. 
And  empty  windows  —  sightless  eyes  — 
Stare  out  against  the  deepening  skies. 

How  once  those  chambers  rang  with  mirth, 
What  merry  lights  were  flung  abroad. 

What  royal  cheer  was  for  the  guest 
Who  came  along  that  lonely  road  ! 

Deserted  now ;  and  vacant  eyes 

Look  down  the  path  that  silent  lies. 
io6 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE.  '  107 

On  other  roads,  on  paths  of  steel, 

The  merry  groups  whirl  on; 
They  have  left  the  waiting  house  alone, 

In  the  sad  September  sun. 
Sumach  and  maple  flames  roll  round 
The  old  house  sinking  to  the  ground. 


'•THE   SEA    IS    HIS." 

ly/IAN  claims  the  land,  but  his  domain 
^  '  *     Stops  at  the  shore. 
God's  wandering  acres  of  the  main 
Roll  on  before. 

I  look  this  vast  expanse  abroad, 

My  rest  is  this  : 
This  is  the  blue- veined  palm  of  God, 

"The  sea  is  His." 

Far  from  the  world  men  walk  upon. 

Why  should  I  fear? 
Across  this  Galilee  the  Son 

Of  God  draws  near. 

I  lie  within  his  hand.     Above 

Benignant  bends 
The  blue  eye  of  his  boundless  love, 

And  that  defends. 
io8 


LYING  AT   THE   BAR. 

T^HE  exile  has  been  long, 

And  broad,  too  broad  the  sea, 
Across  the  which  my  longing  heart 
Has  beaten  heavily. 

And  now  the  sunset  falls 

On  western  hills  afar; 
But  the  sails  are  down,  the  tide  is  out, 

We  are  lying  at  the  bar. 

And  on  beyond  the  sunset  gates 

Another  land  I  ween; 
And  for  its  friends  my  exiled  heart 

Hath  longings  deep  and  keen. 

Oh  1  silent  tide,  when  comest  thou 

Beyond  yon  evening  star? 
My  thoughts,  my  hopes  are  flying  on,  — 

I  am  lying  at  the  bar. 
109 


^ongjsi  of  Camp, 


SONGS   OF   CAMP. 


A  CAMP   REVERY. 

A  S  a  lance  of  sunrise  over  the  hill 
^^     Pierces  the  mists  that  lie 
Dun  and  heavy  on  field  and  rill, 
From  the  woods  to  the  western  sky, 

So  the  lance  of  firelight  bursts  to-night 

The  shadow-gates  of  the  past. 
And  shows  in  the  glow' of  its  dancing  light 

The  years  with  their  treasures  vast. 

I  am  rich,  I  think,  in  this  sombre  wood. 

With  a  richness  past  compare ; 
For  time  is  not,  and  in  memory's  flood 

I  am  yester's  happy  heir. 

What  is  it  I  hear?     Through  the  silence  round 

Comes,  borne  on  a  current  fleet, 
A  laughing  ripple  of  baby  sound. 

And  the  patter  of  baby  feet. 
8  113 


114  ETCHINGS  IN  VERSE, 

I  am  strangled  again  in  the  old  arm-chair, 
I  am  fast  in  the  meshes  light 

Of  the  curls  that  net  me  everywhere, 
And  moisten  my  eyes  to-night. 


For  the  loneliest  hour,  on  seas  or  lands 

(Match  it  no  solitude  can), 
Is  the  day  when  the  strangling  baby  hands 

Unclasp  from  the  neck  of  the  man; 

When  the  game  of  bo-peep  goes  out  of  the  hall, 
As  the  game  of  the  years  comes  in. 

And  we  play  more  alone,  and  care  not  at  all 
Whether  we  lose  or  we  win. 

I  am  counting  over  my  pearls.     Ah,  here 

Is  one  which  a  mighty  wave 
From  a  mighty  depth  has  brought,  —  a  tear 

Made  crystal  in  its  deep  sea  grave. 

I  wrung  it  out  on  a  baby's  face, 

I  dashed  it  away  from  me ; 
Now  it  comes  back,  by  its  transformed  grace 

To  light  my  eternity. 


J!  CAMP  T{EyERY.  115 

Another  wave  to  my  idle  feet 

Has  flung  a  tinted  shell, 
Burdened  with  music  sad  and  sweet, 

From  a  depth  no  line  can  tell. 


It  has  no  sound  for  other  ears; 

But  to  my  heart  alone, 
It  sobs  and  sings  of  far-off  years 

In  a  haunting  undertone. 

So  I  listen  and  dream;  and  beneath  the  free 

Groined  arches  of  the  pines. 
The  church  of  the  village  comes  to  me 

With  its  square  and  modest  lines. 

From  its  silent  doors  the  ghost  of  a  hymn 

Comes  quavering  along. 
As  if  the  dead,  from  their  silence  dim, 

Were  keeping  up  the  song. 

Though  the  parson  sleeps  in  his  grassy  tent, 
The  voice  of  his  trembling  prayer. 

Sweeter  than  sound  of  an  instrument. 
Lingers  upon  the  air. 


Ii6  ETCHINGS  IN  l^ERSE, 

I  am  walking  again  in  the  grasses  deep 
Of  the  churchyard's  empty  way, 

I  am  reading  the  names  of  those  who  sleep 
'Neath  the  marbles  worn  and  gray; 

And  they  who  have  gone,  come  back  to  me 
As  I  read  each  moss-grown  stone, — 

Heaven's  goodly  and  shining  company, — 
And  I  am  no  more  alone. 

Is  it  the  wind  that  sighs  in  the  pines. 
Or  the  strange,  sweet  noise  of  wings? 

A  path  of  fire  through  the  wood  that  shines. 
Or  a  vision  of  heavenly  things? 

Is  this  woodland  temple  a  Gothic  shrine, 
With  its  swaying  lines  and  bands? 

Or  is  it,  in  shadow,  the  rise  divine 
Of  the  house  not  made  with  hands? 

I  cannot  tell;  but  the  dream  I  dream 

Of  the  fading  days  of  yore 
Has  a  dash  that,  like  a  mountain  stream. 

Cuts  open  the  hills  before. 


^  CAMP  T{EyERY.  117 

My  heart  leaps  out  of  the  past  with  a  bound 

That  requires  somewhere  should  be, 
Beyond  the  shadows  that  bind  me  round, 

A  landing-place  for  me. 

So  I  rest  awhile  in  the  shadow  here, 

This  tent  of  God's  own  love, 
While  Memory  guards  the  darkening  rear. 

And  Hope  flies  on  above. 

So,  heart  of  mine,  fly  on  before. 
The  path  through  the  woods  is  free, 

While  I  wait  for  the  house  where  evermore 
My  dwelling-place  shall  be. 


INTO  THE   FOREST. 

'T'HE    storm    had    passed;    its    winding    sheet    was 

wrapped 
Around  the  pines  that  stood  Hke  spectres  grim 
Adown  the  ghttering  spaces  of  the  wood, 
Around  the  uptom  roots  and  far-off  cliffs 
That  gleamed  as  if  the  sun  his  light  had  wrecked 
Upon  their  jagged  front.     Our  muffled  train 
Tossed  back  the  drifts  as  vessels  lift  the  spray ; 
The  smoke-wreaths  darkly  closed  around  the  trees 
And  trailed  along  the  whiteness,  as  a  doubt 
Sometimes  falls  shapeless  on  fair  fields  of  Truth. 

Afar  along  the  track,  with  shambling  gait, 
A  lone,  wild  child  of  this  lone  forest  pressed 
His  weary  way  like  one  who  has  no  aim ; 
His  tattered  blanket  held  across  a  breast 
From  which  all  love  of  life  had  died  away ; 
His  head  bent  low  as  in  a  thought  of  pride 
That  had  been  blasted  like  a  shivered  pine. 
Which,  lightning- struck,  stands  dead,  but  cannot  fall. 

1 18 


INTO   THE  FOREST.  119 

The  whistle  blows;  the  sad  face  hardly  turns. 

There  is  no  protest  in  the  quiet  eyes, 

Or  in  the  ambling  muffled  step  that  slides 

Across  the  conqueror's  iron  path  and  seeks 

The  stillness  of  the  woods  that  once  were  his,  — 

By  sufferance  now  his  refuge  for  a  day. 

Till  some  new  force  shall  cross  his  doubtful  path 

And  turn  him  back  and  round,  till  death  shall  come 

And  give  him  place  within  its  ample  gloom. 

Oh,  iron  track  of  a  great  nation's  life  ! 

Oh,  force  too  pitiless,  that  drives  along 

Trade,  knowledge,  art,  religion,  on  a  slope 

That  glitters  fair  and  white  like  Heaven's  road, 

But,  like  a  fiery  Fate,  thrusts  off  the  life 

Which  God  had  throned  along  these  temple  aisles  ! 

The  weaker  ever  falls  before  the  strong. 
And  flesh  and  blood  must  yield  to  nerves  of  steel. 
Art  holds  her  lever  straight  through  blasted  hopes; 
But  down  the  depths  of  history  there  gleams 
A  troubled  look,  a  Nemesis,  that  haunts 
The  way  our  brother  went  with  sullen  face. 
And  in  the  far-off  gloom  there  stands  a  fact 
Of  judgment,  still  and  white,  like  yonder  pine 
That,  palHd,  shows  the  way  God's  lightning  went. 


LEGEND   OF    DEVIL^S    LAKE. 

T  low  deep  and  still  the  summer  noon  that  rests 

Upon  this  lake.     Within  these  jagged  cliffs 
Nor  breath   nor   sound   finds   way.     The   shadows   fall 
From  tree  or  cloud,  as  motionless  and  still 
As  dreams  fall  down  upon  the  souls  that  are 
At  peace  with  God  and  mam     The  scarped  rocks, 
Like  castle  walls  that  guard  enchanted  ground, 
Hold  changeless  ward  around  the  waters  deep, 
Whose  sharp  and  broken  curving  shores  appear 
As  if  a  piece  of  sky,  once  wrecked  along 
Yon  crags,  had  fallen  down,  and  haply  found 
A  resting-place  as  still  as  its  own  heaven. 

*Twas  here,  in  times  long  gone,  a  chieftain  dwelt 
Whose  treasure-trove  was  not  in  arms  or  lands 
(Since  these  by  stronger  tribes  had  wrested  been), 
But  in  a  daughter,  in  whose  eyes  the  stars 
Might  look  for  clearness,  in  whose  well-poised  form 
And  grace  of  manner  passing  clouds  might  look 


LEGEND  OF  T)EyiLS  LAKE,  I2i 

For  rest  and  motion,  in  whose  heart  as  in 

A  mirror  all  the  beauty  of  the  world 

Was  glassed.     Her  step  was  light  upon  the  grass 

As  footfall  of  the  shadow  from  the  cloud, 

Her  voice  was  as  the  note  of  early  bird, 

Her  laughter  like  the  fall  of  waters  cool 

Amid  the  ferny  glens;  and  far  and  near 

Her  presence  was  a  benediction  pure,  — 

A  nameless  fragrance  on  the  very  air. 

As  comes  along  the  garden  when  the  night 

Is  still,  and  silent  dews  from  heaven  fall. 


Two  lovers  sought  the  maiden's  heart  and  hand; 
The  one  a  prince  from  lands  beyond  the  flood. 
High-born  and  wearing  on  his  girdle  signs 
Of  valor  fierce,  of  wars  and  victories. 
The  other  was  her  girlhood  friend,  —  a  youth 
Of  carriage  noble,  frank  of  face  and  mien, 
Her  playmate  on  the  smooth  and  pebbly  shore 
Of  the  strange  lake ;  her  helper  in  the  arts 
That  soothed  her  father's  heart  and  cheered  his  days. 
As  interlaced  the  sunbeams  'mid  the  shade 
Of  bending  trees  above  the  hut,  so  these 
Blent  thought  with  thought,  and    brightened    toil  with 
toil. 


122  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE,  ^ 

One  evening,  when  the  level  sun  his  spears  j 

Of  light  sent  quivering  on  the  distant  hill,  \ 
These  lovers  waited  for  the  old  chiefs  word; 

While  dutiful  the  daughter  stood  with  eyes  \ 

Downcast,  and  meek  hands  folded  on  her  breast. 

i 

Burned  in  the  old  chiefs  heart  the  pent  up  fire 

Of  valor  yet.     Gone  were  his  lands,  his  bands ;  ! 

But  quenchless  was  the  light  that  kindled  now,  ; 

And  only  daring  should  his  daughter  win.  j 

He  pointed  to  a  far-off  crag  that  hung  | 

Above  the  silent  depths,  and  thus  he  spake :  1 

,i 
i 

\ 
"  On  yonder  height  an  eagle  hath  her  nest. 

Who  first  from  out  that  nest  shall  to  me  bring  1 

An  eaglet,  shall  my  daughter's  hand  receive.*'  ] 

Scarce   spoken    were    the    words    when     prince    and  \ 

youth 

With  equal  bound  sprang  forth.     Love  lent  her  wings.  j 

As  leaps  the  chamois  on  the  sides  of  Alps,  ; 
So  on  from  crag  to  crag,  from  ledge  to  ledge, 

Urged  by  hot  hearts,  and  side  by  side,  the  twain  | 

Rushed  on.     The  last  sharp  arrow  from  the  sun  \ 
Just  touched  the    splintered    height   when    sprang    the 

youth 

With  one  exultant  bound,  and  reached  the  nest,  ; 


LEGEND   OF  DEVILS  LAKE.  123 

Bent   down   to    seize   the  prize,  when,  lo  !    the  prince, 
With  hands  by  mad  and  ruthless  passion  nerved, 
Hurled  the  fair  youth  adown  the  awful  height, — 
A  hundred  fathoms  down.     The  silent  lake 
Received  his  form,  to  yield  it  not  again 
Until  the  sea  gives  up  its  buried  dead. 

The  maiden  with  a  heart  of  prayer  had  watched 

Each  step,  had  seen  her  lover  grasp  the  prize, 

Had  seen  him  fall,  had  seen  the  waters  close. 

With  flying  feet  she  reached  the  pebbly  shore. 

One  thrust,  —  her  light  canoe  glides  swiftly  out ; 

Her  lithe  form    scarcely  bends  while  with    deft    hands 

She  guides  the  arrowy  bark  to  that  dread  spot 

Where  still  the  waters  restless  sway,  as  if 

They  mourned  the  dead.     One  moment  that  fair  form 

Erect,  as  marble  rigid,  stood  above  that  grave ; 

Two    pleading    hands    rise    up    against    the    gathering 

night. 
And  then  a  plunge  as  swift  as  sunlight  ends 
The  tragedy  of  love.     The  youth  hath  won 
His  bride.     The  waves  close  over ;  the  canoe 
Floats  idly  to  the  shore ;  the  stars  come  out 
And  wheel  in  groups  above  the  double  grave. 
As  if  to  look  upon  the  mystery  of  love. 


124  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE. 

Ages  have  come  and  gone  ;  but  still,  when  stars 
Take  up  their  stations  on  the  heights  of  space 
(So  runs  the  legend  of  this  Spirit  Lake), 
A  maiden,  fair  and  stately  calm,  is  seen 
With  steady  stroke  to  send  her  spirit-boat 
Around  the  waters  still,  as  seeking  that 
Which  lost,  on  earth  can  nevermore  be  found. 


THE    LAST  CAMP-FIRE. 

piLE  on  the  pine  and  hemlock  boughs, 

Send  up  the  starry  shower; 
Ten  days  of  wildwood  friendship  be 
Concentred  in  this  hour. 

To-morrow  comes  the  world  again, 

Its  paths  of  dark  or  light; 
To-night  we  draw  the  circle  close, 

And  every  face  is  bright. 

Kind  memories  more  than  hemlock  flames 

Across  our  foreheads  creep, 
And  underneath  these  placid  days 

Are  friendships  true  and  deep. 

The  camp-fire  is  a  vulcan  forge, 

Within  whose  throbbing  glow 
Are  welded  bands  that  will  not  break 

Till  Life's  tent  is  laid  low. 
125 


126  ETCHINGS  IN  ^ERSE. 

How  hard  soever  old  Time  may  strike, 
Or  sudden  storms  may  brew, 

The  rivet-pins  of  kindly  thoughts 
Will  keep  this  circle  true. 

Around  Life's  camp  the  shadows  lie, 
And  dark  aisles  of  the  wood, 

And  ope  their  silent  mystery, 
We  would  not  if  we  could ; 

But  rather  face  to  face  we  turn, 
And  when  our  hope  declines. 

We  '11  trace  the  way  the  sparks  reveal 
Above  the  silent  pines. 

Then  pile  the  pine  and  hemlock  boughs, 
Send  up  the  starry  shower; 

Before  to-morrow's  battle  call 
Let  freedom  have  one  hour. 

Perchance,  when  the  last  battle  's  fought. 
In  the  last  evening's  damp, 

Our  earthly  thought  of  heaven's  rest 
Will  be  this  Bruld  camp. 


^ptsJceUaneoujs, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


A   TALE   OF   THE    ROAD. 

BY  AN   OLD   ENGINEER. 

1\T0,  my  running  days  are  over, 
^  ^     The  engineer  needs  rest; 
My  hand  is  shaky,  children, 

There's  a  tugging  pain  in  my  breast. 
But  here  in  the  twiUght  gather, 

I  '11  tell  you  a  tale  of  the  road 
That  will  ring  in  my  head  forever. 

Till  it  rests  beneath  the  sod. 

We  were  lumbering  on  in  the  twilight. 

The  night  was  dropping  her  shade, 
And  the  "Gladiator''  labored, 

Climbing  the  top  of  the  grade. 
The  train  was  heavily  laden. 

So  I  let  my  engine  rest. 
Climbing  the  grading  slowly, 

Till  we  reached  the  upland's  crest. 
9  129 


I30                           ETCHINGS  IN   yERSE.  ' 

I  held  my  watch  to  the  lamp-Hght,  : 

Ten  minutes  behind  the  time,  ! 

Lost  in  the  slackened  motion  ' 

Of  the  upgrade's  heavy  climb ;  ^ 

But  I  knew  the  miles  of  the  prairie  i 

That  stretched  a  level  track,  j 

So  I  touched  the  gauge  of  the  boiler,  \ 

And  pulled  the  lever  back. 

Over  the  rails  a-gleaming,  | 

Forty  an  hour  or  so,  i 
The  engine  leaped  like  a  demon 

Breathing  a  fiery  glow; 

But  to  me,  ahold  of  the  lever,  | 

She  seeme^  a  child  alway,  j 

Ready  to  mind  me  ever,  \ 

And  my  lightest  touch  obey.  i 

I  was  proud,  you  know,  of  my  engine,  i 

Holding  her  steady  that  night,  i 

With  my  eye  on  the  track  before  us  i 

Ablaze  with  the  drummond  light.  I 

We  neared  a  well-known  cabin,  j 

Where  a  child  of  three  or  four 

1 

Oft  waved  to  me  a  signal,  { 

A- playing  round  the  door.  ; 

i 


^    TALE  OF  THE  T{OAD.  131 

My  hand  was  firm  on  the  throttle 

As  we  swept  around  the  curve, 
When  something  afar  in  the  shadow 

Struck  fire  through  every  nerve. 
I  sounded  the  brakes,  and  crashing 

The  reverse  lever  down  in  dismay, 
Near  and  nearer,  —  oh,  God  !  eighty  paces 

Ahead  was  the  child  at  its  play. 

One  instant,  one  awful  and  only. 

The  world  flew  around  in  my  brain; 
I  smote  my  hand  hard  on  my  forehead 

To  keep  back  the  terrible  pain. 
The  train  I  thought  flying  forever, 

With  mad  irresistible  roll, 
While  the  cries  of  the  dying,  the  night  wind, 

Swept  in  to  my  shuddering  soul. 

Then  I  stood  on  the  front  of  the  engine, 

How  I  got  there  I  never  could  tell. 
My  feet  planted  firm  on  the  cross-bar 

Where  the  cow-catcher  slopes  to  the  rail; 
One  hand  firmly  locked  on  the  coupler. 

And  one  stretched  out  in  the  night, 
While  my  eye  gauged  the  distance,  and  measured 

The  speed  of  our  slackening  flight. 


132  ETCHINGS  IN   yERSE,  \ 

1 
My  mind,  thank  God  !  it  was  steady ;  \ 

I  saw  the  curls  of  her  hair, 
And  the  face  that,  turning  in  wonder,  \ 

Was  lit  by  the  deadly  glare. 
I  know  little  more ;  but  I  heard  it,  i 

The  groan  of  the  anguished  wheels,  ; 

And  remember  thinking,  "The  engine 

In  agony  trembles  and  reels."  ] 

One  rod  —  to  the  day  of  my  dying  | 

I  shall  think  that  old  engine  reared  back,  j 

And  as  she  recoiled  with  a  shudder,  j 

I  swept  my  hand  over  the  track. 
Then  darkness  fell  on  my  eyelids; 

But  I  heard  the  surge  of  the  train, 
And  the  poor  old  engine  creaking,  \ 

As  racked  by  a  deadly  pain. 

They  found  us,  they  said,  on  the  gravel. 

My  fingers  enmeshed  in  her  hair,  \ 

And  she  on  my  bosom  a-climbing,  i 

To  nestle  securely  there. 

We  are  not  much  given  to  crying,  ; 

We  men  that  run  on  the  road,  . 

But  that  night,  they  said,  there  were  faces               ! 

With  tears  on  them  lifted  to  God.  \ 


Jl   TALE  OF  THE  T{OAD.  133 

For  years  in  the  eve  and  the  morning 

As  I  neared  the  cabin  again, 
My  hand  on  the  lever  unconsciously  pressed, 

And  lowered  the  speed  of  the  train. 
When  my  engine  blew  her  greeting. 

She  always  came  to  the  door ; 
And  her  look,  so  full  of  heaven. 

Blesses  me  evermore. 


THE  CRYSTAL   PRISON. 

I N  the  library's  shadiest  corner, 

One  sultry  morn  of  July, 
As  I  glanced  from  my  reading  of  Domer 

A  spider  I  chanced  to  espy; 
A  gray  and  a  long-legged  spider, 

Well  poised  on  eight  pedals  he  stood, 

In  a  somewhat  contemplative  mood. 
On  the  sunshine  he  rested  one  eye, 
And  the  other  was  opened  much  wider 

On  the  vellum  of  "Synopsis  Poli." 


To  clap  down  a  goblet  upon  him, 

An  invisible  jail. 
Was  the  thought  not  of  mischief  or  play, 
But  an  entomological  way 

Of  scientific  and  painful  duty, — 
134 


THE  CRYSTAL  TRISON.  13S 

A  duty  whose  rule  is 
(Although  it  so  cruel  is), 
First  catch,  then  empale. 
Then  sprinkle  with  snuff, 
Or  other  odorous  stuff. 
This  thin,  gray  Arachnidal  beauty. 

Then,  recaUing  wise  Solomon's  message, 

*'  To  the  ant,  thou  sluggard,  and  learn  !  '* 
"A  spider,"  I  said,  "sure  may  presage 
A  moral,  as  well  as  an  ant ; 
It  is  solemn  and  stilted,  and  can't 

Be  bad  for  giving  a  turn 

Of  an  ethical  sort  to  one's  thinking." 

So,  shutting  my  book,  I  sat  winking 
At  my  prisoner,  who,  with  one  eye 

Stood  stupidly,  silently  blinking 
At  the  light  of  that  day  in  July; 

The  other,  opened  much  wider. 
Was  lifted  to  '^Synopsis  Poli,"  — 

My  ambitious  Arachnidal  Spider  ! 

When  he  roused  from  his  strange  meditation. 

It  occurred  to  that  venturesome  spider 
He  would  stroll  through  a  part  of  creation ; 


136  ETCHINGS  IN   VERSE. 

And  in  the  green  fields  of  the  room,  — 

On  the  carpet,  with  flowers  abloom, — 

He  would  achieve  of  the  world  a  much  wider 

Idea  than  ever  before. 
He  would  climb  up  the  window  or  door. 
The  comers  he  e'en  would  explore. 
And  stand  on  the  far  away  shore 

Of  the  hearth,  and  look  up  to  the  dark. 
Deep  dome  of  the  chimney-flue. 
Be  dazed  by  the  ray  struggling  through 

From  the  land  of  the  cloud  and  the  lark ; 

Or  else  he  would  climb  on  the  book-case  shelf. 

And,  like  other  philosophers,  see  for  himself 
How  deep  and  how  high. 
How  near  to  the  sky 

Is  that  time-scented  vellum  of  "Synopsis  Poli." 

But  alas  for  the  spider  who  never  had  learned 
There   are   walls    that   are    crystal,    and    one    may   be 

turned 
From    his    stroll     through     the     universe,    deftly    and 

quick. 
By  boundaries  viewless,  but  firm,  high,  and  thick ! 

So  he  battered  his  head  in  a  reckless  endeavor 
To  go  through  the  prison  of  glass, — 


THE  CRYSTAL  TRISON,  137 

First   one  side,  then   t  'other ;   but,  of  course,  he 
could  never 
That  invisible  barrier  pass. 
Then    he    took    to    his    legs,    with    the    thought,    no 

doubt : 

"My  head,  indeed,  is  broken; 
But  he  who  can  climb  may  always  get  out 
Of  prison  or  trouble  or  torment  or  doubt, 

For  the  top  of  things  is  open/* 
Alas  !  little  prisoner,  yield  to  your  fate. 
Your  courage  is  ample,- your  legs  are  eight, 

But  glass  is  a  slippery  wall; 
Your  philosophy  also  is  all  askew, 
For  the  top  of  your  prison  has  no  hole  through,  — • 

A  crystal  dome  over  all ! 
So  avail  you  nor  legs,  so  graceful  and  fair, 
Nor  the  wisdom  that  looks  with  a  Solonic  air 
And  a  quizzical  eye 
At  "Synopsis  Poli," 
With  a  stare  which  despair 
Makes  hopeless  and  hopelessly  wider, 
My  discouraged  Arachnidal  Spider. 

Ah  !  could  we  but  measure  the  distance  between 

Aspiring  and  doing,  'twere  well. 
The  horizon  is  crystal,  —  may  never  be  seen,  — 


138  ETCHINGS  IN  VERSE,  \ 

All  the  same  it  determines,  decisive  and  keen, 
Our  crystalline  prison  or  cell. 

Ah  !   small  past  believing  j 

The  world  of  achieving. 
Though  vast  be  the  realm  of  our  dream ;  \ 

And  ever,  as  outward  : 

Our  faces  are  set,  1 

Our  steps  are  thrown  backward, 
The  barriers  are  met 
In  the  walls  without  visible  gleam. 
In  prison-bound  vision, 
The  far-off  Elysian 
Blue  fields  of  our  fame  may  appear.  . 

But  there  's  practical  pith  \ 

In  the  Persian  myth :  \ 

Round  the  world  is  a  crystalline  sphere. 

So  no  more  will  I  jeer  /^ 

At  the  spider,  for  here  j 

Is  a  prison  we  all  must  share ;  1 

Nor  laugh  at  the  eye  j 

So  ambitiously  high  j 

At  "Poli  Synopsis'*  there.  \ 

Though  my  freedom  be  wider 

There  are  books  beyond  call  j 

Of  insect  or  man,  \ 

And  sun-rays  fall  H 


THE  CRYSTAL  TRISON,  139 

Past  our  vision  to  scan. 
'Twixt  the  Can't  and  the  Can 

SoHd  buttressed  the  wall, 

And  the  dome  's  over  all, 
Both  for  insect  and  man, 
Fellow-prisoner,  Arachnidal  Spider, 


DIVIDING  THE   WORLD. 

[from  the  GERMAN  OF  SCHILLER.] 

"  DEHOLD  the  world  !     Oh,  men  hear  my  decision," 

Cried  Jupiter  from  his  great  throne ; 
"  I  give  it  you  for  brotherly  division, 
For  feoff  and  endless  loan." 

Then  hands  in  choosing  were  outstretched. 

Bestirred  him  sharply,  old  and  young. 
The  richly  fruited  fields  the  farmer  reached ; 

The  lord  to  forests  clung; 

The  merchant  took  the  well-stored  riches ; 

The  abbot  chose  the  noblest  wine ; 
The  king  shut  down  on  roads  and  bridges, 

And  cried,  "  The  tenth  is  mine  1 " 

Too  late,  when  ended  the  division. 

The  poet  came  from  lands  unnamed, 
Only  to  hear,  in  tones  of  sharp  derision. 

That  everything  was  claimed. 
140 


DIVIDING   THE   1VORLD.  141 

"  Alas  !  shall  I  be  dispossessed,  — 

I,  thy  most  true  and  loyal  son?" 
To  Jupiter  he  cried,  in  tones  depressed, 

And  fell  before  the  throne. 

"In  dreamland  hast  thou  been  abiding?" 

RepHed  the  god.     "Why  call  to  me? 
Where  wert  thou  then  when  men  were  earth  dividing?  " 

The  poet  said,  "With  thee. 

"  My  eyes  upon  thy  face  were  feasting, 

My  ear,  on  heaven's  harmony; 
Forgive  the  soul  that  to  thy  presence  hasting, 

Has  given  the  world  for  thee." 

"What    shall    be    done!"    cried    Jove,    "the   world   is 
given ; 

The  chase,  the  mart  are  not  my  own. 
But  come  to  me ;  find  access  free  to  heaven. 

And  welcome  to  my  throne." 


AT  THE    DOORS. 

[from   the  GERMAN.] 


I   KNOCKED  at  the  gilded  door  of  Wealth ; 

*     Through  the  window  was  given  a  farthing  by  stealth. 


I  sought  Love's  beautiful  close-shut  door ; 
But  many  as  eager  had  reached  it  before. 

The  gate  of  Honor  I  tried  in  vain ; 
"  Only  the  knighted  can  entrance  gain." 

I  sought  the  lowly  roof  of  Toil, 
Only  from  pains  and  groans  to  recoil. 

The  house  of  Friendship  then  I  tried. 
There  were  none  to  show  it,  far  and  wide. 

A  little  house  I  remembered  then. 
At  last  thereto  I  shall  entrance  gain. 

It  has  already  full  many  a  guest; 
But  for  many  more  in  the  Grave  is  rest. 

142 


TONGUES   OF    FLAME. 

\1  T'EARY  with  the    empty  Hfe,  that  frothing   surges 
^  ^       on  the  street ; 
Weary  with  a  restless,  fevered  brain,  and  aimless,  tramp- 
ing feet; 

Close    pursued   by   shadows,  reaching   arms  across  the 

busy  town, 
Drawing  veils  along  the  world,  and  setting  in  the  sky 

a  crown  : 


Shutting  out  the  little  JVow,  to  chafe  along  the  dark- 
ened sea. 

Merest  pebble  tossed  by  waves  that  murmur  through 
eternity,  — 

I,  alone,  with  dreams  that  arch-like  span  the  cold  ex- 
panse of  years. 

Springing  lightly  from  the  present,  like  a  bridge  that 
has  no  piers ; 

143 


1 


■* 


144  ETCHINGS  IN  yERSE,  \ 

I,  alone,  am  musing  while  the    shadows  of  the  dark-  I 

ening  room, 

Touched  by  firelight,  range  around  me    like    gilt  vol-  I 

umes  of  the  gloom.  ] 

Moody  is  my  fancy,  sweeping  backward  through  the  j 
world's  long  age  ;  ' 

Fame  is  but  a  book  of  shadows,  with  a  gilding  to  the 
page. 

Ah,  my  lady,  when  your  poet's  tinted  leaf   you  deftly  \ 

turn,  I 

Think,    God    only   sees    the    shadow    underneath    the  | 

thoughts  that  burn  !  ' 

\ 

Then  I  touched  the  dying  embers,  and  the  flashes  j 
mounting  higher  ] 

For  an  instant  lit  the  bust  of  Tasso  with  a  tongue  of  ''■ 
fire;  ! 

Fell  on  him  who    stood  beside  him,  —  in  his   marble 

trance  between  ■ 

Heaven  and  hell,  —  the  broken-hearted,  stately,  dream-  ] 
eyed  Florentine  !  i 


TONGUES  OF  FLAME.  14S             t 

Oh,  my  Tasso  !  pouring    us    the  wine    of  Zion's  royal           i 

dream,  1 

And  thy  cold   lips  vainly  begging  for  a  draught  from           \ 

Lethe's  stream  !  1 


Oh,  my  exiled  Dante  !  reaping  where  no  Beatrice  may 

glean  ; 
Treading  marl  of  lonely  death,  and  holding  sheaves  of 

golden  sheen  ! 

Gathering   bravely  for   the  garners    of  the  world's  re- 
motest age ; 
Dying  hungry,  trampled  by  thy  Italy's  insensate  rage  ! 


Slant  the  shadows  back,  and  forward  falls  a  flicker- 
ing wave  of  light 

On  the  lettered  books,  where  names  shine  out  like 
stars  along  the  night; 

And  as  billows  crowned  with  sunrise  fall  on  rock  and 

yielding  strand, 
Giving  brightness    to    the  granite,  spurning    back    the 

drifted  sand. 


146  ETCHINGS  IN   I/ERSE. 

So  those  royal  names  look  down  upon  me  with  their 

deep-drawn  lines, 
Cut  by  waves  of  Ages,  on  whose  crests  a  dawn  eternal 

shines ! 

Mighty  artists  !  pausing  tremulous  with  prophecies  sub- 
lime, 

And  with  hand  unerring,  carving  pedestals  as  broad  as 
Time. 

And  my  heavy  thoughts  that  drifting  hid  my  Plato  from 

my  ken, 
Beaten  back,  have  left  me  in  the  kingly  fellowship  again. 

Smooth  and  firm  the  shore  of  life,  along  which  treading 

years  have  paved 
Pathways  to  the    silent   shrines   in   everlasting  sunlight 

laved. 

Jostled  by  the  narrow    foreheads    in    the  iron  ways  of 

men, 
Crowded  from  the  line  of  march  whose  shining  goal  is 

empty  gain, 

Glad  for  refuge  from  the  glitter  which  is  only  splendid 

gloom, 
Through  the  doors  of  lifted  Ages  slides  my  soul,  —  and 

here  is  room. 


TONGUES  OF  FLAME.                          147  ^ 

\ 

Faintly  to  my  reverent  spirit  comes  the  ringing  pavement  ] 

tread  J 

Of  the  throng  who  in  the  market  barter  brains  and  heart  \ 

for  bread !  j 

But   I    stand   among  the    Centuries  that,  with  priestly  i 

gems  impearled,  ; 

Noiseless  light  the  altar  candles  for  the  homage  of  the  \ 

world.  \ 

And  from  out  the  dome  above  me  —  like  the  setting  of  i 

a  crown  —  | 

Thought's  Apostles,  mute,   immortal,  look  with  radiant  J 

faces  down  !  \ 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


M191908 


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